Chain of Command Revisited
by abcordes
Summary: This is my version of what happened to Captain Picard during his ordeal with the Cardassians and his recovery back on the Enterprise. Please read and review. This is my first story.
1. Chapter 1

_**Note: This story starts out just like the episode so that everybody who reads will be aware of where things are starting out. Pretty soon though, you'll notice that the gaps that were left in the episode start to fill in. Keep reading and please review! Thanks for checking out this story. As a disclaimer, I do not own Star Trek but do enjoy creating stories based on it. **_

* * *

Chapter 1

He felt as if he were falling. His limbs became heavy and tingly, but his mind began to float on the cool air around him. There were voices around him, but he couldn't be sure to whom they belonged. It didn't really matter. He didn't care.

"Name?" said one of the voices.

"Picard, Jean Luc." The words were coming out of his mouth, but he didn't remember actually saying them. Strange.

"Rank?"

"Captain"

"Mission?"

"Special operations…Celtris III." It was like he was listening in to some else's conversation, but he also knew that he was the one answering the voice. It was a strange sensation! He would have to discuss this with Deanna when he got back…Got back? Where was he? Oh, yes, he was captured by the Cardassians, brought into a room… It suddenly dawned on him what was going on. That pinch on his neck was a hypospray injecting a drug into him, and he was being interrogated. His defenses immediately went up as a moment of lucidity came back to him.

"Who was with you?" Picard didn't answer. He was not going to cooperate.

"Increase the serum level."

Picard heard more than felt the hypospray this time. The senses he had briefly regained quickly dissipated back into the floating fog of the drugs.

The Cardassian walked slowly around him, boots echoing on the floor. "Shall we begin again? Name?"

"Picard, Jean Luc."

"Rank?"

"Captain."

"Mission?"

"Special Operations Celtris III."

"Others with you?"

"…Dr. Beverly Crusher. Lt. Worf." Picard hesitated at that but not for long.

"What are the Federation's defense plans for Minos Corva?"

"I don't know." Picard could hear all of this in the distance but didn't give it much notice. He recognized the voice as his but didn't care.

"Increase the serum level slightly," the voice said.

There was another hiss in the distance and Picard drifted even deeper into the fog, even deeper into the drug-induced dream. Deeper into not fighting, not caring…

* * *

Gul Madred menacingly circled his bound and drugged prisoner. The human, Picard, was sitting in a chair, his hands bound in front of him, a sharp white light glaring onto him from above. This was the moment Madred had been looking forward to. To actually have the captain of the Federation flagship here in his interrogation room was a dream of a lifetime. He had been given the honor of this interrogation by his superiors who saw his skill and years of experience at extracting information from the most stubborn criminals. It was a matter of pride to be able to break the will of anyone who was unfortunate enough to be sitting in the chair in which the human now sat.

Madred's orders were to extract the Federation's defense plans for the Minos Corva star system. It was on the border of the Federation/Cardassian border, and in the event of a Cardassian invasion (which was well past the planning process); their invasion would be more swift and devastating if they knew the Federation's defensive strategy, sensor buoy net codes, command codes, and such. The decorated and esteemed captain of the Enterprise surely knew much of this, if not more. All it would take would be a little coaxing to get what they needed, and the Cardassian victory over the Federation would be at hand.

Madred had ordered the physician, Gavek, to administer the truth serum to expedite this task. Madred would get the information his superiors required immediately, and then he could take his time and enjoy extracting anything else he could at his leisure. How he hated to be rushed in his work, but his superiors wanted the information yesterday. Such a shame. Interrogation was a fine art, little understood by those simply wanting the information as quickly as possible. However, Madred was fast becoming irritated. The human was now drugged to a level that would be suitable for a large Klingon, yet he kept saying that he had no knowledge about defense plans….no knowledge of sensor buoy codes…no knowledge of command codes other than the Enterprise's. And, of course, those codes were useless since they would have been changed when he left on this failed mission. Could the human truly be this ignorant of the workings of his mighty Federation? _This_ captain?

He could see that the glassy-eyed human was no longer fighting the interrogation. He wasn't lying. He wasn't able to. So, the Cardassian government had spent considerable time and effort to get the captain here, and he did not know the information that he was supposed to know. Madred's reputation as a master interrogator was now not the only thing at stake. This could be a major embarrassment for the military if he could get no important information out of the man. Extreme measure would be taken if necessary to prevent such things.

Madred hissed with annoyance and stopped his pacing. He looked at Gavek and said, "It appears that we are going to have to use stronger measures. Take him, and implant the device." The physician nodded to the two guards who had been standing at a discrete distance in the shadows. They came forward and hauled Picard out of the chair by the arms. He was too drugged to walk so they dragged him across the room and out the door. Gavek followed them down the hall to a small medical bay and located a box in a cabinet while the guards roughly pulled Picard onto a metal exam table. One guard removed the cuffs from Picard's wrists while the other unzipped Picard's shirt to expose his upper left chest.

"Humans are pathetic," the guard snarled as he looked down at the listless form he was strapping to the table. Gavek grinned to himself as he used his scalpel to make a 6 cm incision into the human's chest muscle. He knew from experience what "the device" was capable of doing to a man. During his military training on interrogation, each student was required to experience the pain it caused. That day was legendary and dreaded among the recruits and served as a way to weed out those who were not fully invested in military service. It was a rite of passage. He remembered that day vividly and how he had recalibrated his own measurement of what pain really was. Broken bones, knife wounds, phaser burns…those were nothing. Even the strongest man could be reduced to crying, convulsing heap. He knew this from experience.

The pain device was affectionately called a "stinger" by those who used them. They had a remarkable resemblance to an insect known for its vicious sting that infested many of the slums of the cities. A stinger was a small silver cylinder containing an advanced microcomputer controlled by a remote. From this cylindrical body, thread-like tendrils arched and thrashed, searching for nerves around which to twine like a vine. One had to hold a stinger with forceps lest those tendrils grab onto one's own finger and burrow into it or, if you dropped the whole thing, it would skitter across the floor. Gavek knew the latter from a rather embarrassing personal experience.

He could tell that Picard was vaguely aware of what was happening though too drugged to do more than groan softly. The human's eyes were partially open but not focusing on anything. Gavek felt a slight pity for the poor creature but inserted the writhing device into the open wound. It immediately started to dig itself deeper into the muscle. Within a few minutes, it had burrowed out of site. The human grimaced at this unwelcome sensation, then relaxed as the device finished its initial implantation. It would take a few more hours for the tendrils to increase in length enough to reach and attach to the necessary nerves. Allowing the human to recover from the drugs slowly would provide sufficient time.

"I'm going to make sure it's functioning properly before we close the incision," Gavek said more to himself than the guards. He picked up a control pad from a nearby table and checked the readout. It showed that the stinger had full power, so he pushed the test button. It switched on for only an instant, but in that second, Picard's body convulsed violently against the restraints. It worked. Gavek grinned, closed the incision with a dermal regenerator, wiped off the blood, and zipped Picard's shirt back up. He had become quite adept at installing this little gem.

"I'm finished," Gavek announced. "Take him to the holding cell. You know what to do." He wondered how long this prisoner would last once Madred began using the stinger. He guessed a few minutes. He shook his head and began cleaning his instruments.

The guards rolled the table out of the medical bay and down the corridor to a holding cell. The room was just wide enough for the table and for one guard to stand beside it while he reshackled Picard's wrists and blindfolded him. The guard cinched tighter the restraining straps across the human's legs and torso, and then added one across his neck. The latter, plus the blindfold, worked well for minimizing struggling. For the pain device to work at peak efficiency, the prisoner needed to be still for a few hours to allow for adequate tendril growth. This was the only limitation to the wondrous device, but they had found this way to efficiently work around it. The guard moved through his routine with practiced precision, and then exited, leaving the prisoner in his foggy dream world.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Slowly, slowly, Picard began to rouse. After drifting in and out of oblivion, he began to remember what had happened…the trap, Worf was shot, Cardassians closing in, the interrogation, taken to a room…It all came back like a wave crashing over him, and he reflexively sat bolt upright. Or at least he tried to. The strap across his throat choked him, and his head clunked back to the table with a thud. He winced at the unexpected shock, coughing from the pressure on his throat. More careful this time, he tried moving his arms and his legs, but they were held firm, hard straps cutting into his skin through his clothing. He tried to twist his hands out of the cuffs, but it only rubbed his wrists raw and did nothing to free them. Blinded and completely immobilized, he waited, intensely aware of his thirst, hunger, and bladder. His senses on full alert, he had to fight to keep the fear from creeping in. This was a hell of a situation, and it took all his training to pull his wits back together.

After an eternity of listening to the rhythmic thrumming of the air circulation system and his pounding heart, Picard heard a metal latch sliding, then a door opening. The sharp crack of heels on stone gave Picard a fresh shot of adrenaline, and he reflexively struggled against the restraints again. Realizing again that he was just injuring his wrists more, he stopped and turned his face towards the sound as though he could see through the blindfold. "Who's there? Where am I?" Picard demanded. No answer. He was breathing like he had just run a mile.

He could feel the table rolling, and from the sound of it, out of a room and down a hall. "Where are you taking me?" No answer. The hall smelled of chemicals and sweat.

The motion stopped. Picard felt hands loosening and then removing the straps holding his legs down, then the same for the straps over his arms and torso, the sounds of metal clasps clinking. They waited to release the throat restraint as they tugged on the wrist shackles, making sure they were not coming off. The skin on his wrists burned as the metal bands closed even more tightly. He could hear the sounds of the guards breathing and footsteps as they worked. Their armor creaked with their movements. Finally, cold fingers bumped his chin up as the strap over his throat loosened. The zip of the course strap through its clasp and the final clank of it onto the table signaled that the guards were finished. Strong hands gripped his arms and dragged him roughly off the table and to his feet. One guard on either side, fingers digging into his upper arms…Picard's mind raced. This could be his chance to escape. And go where? He'd figure that out later.

Picard let himself be led, feigning weakness. After a few steps, he intentionally stumbled as if his knees were buckling under him. Just as the guards readjusted their grips, Picard jerked as hard as he could away. The sudden movement had the intended result. The guard to his left lost his grip at the unexpected motion. Picard kicked out blindly in that direction, somehow managing to land a solid kick on that guard and push the other one backwards. He heard the guard he had kicked grunt, followed by a thud on the floor. The other guard, however, never lost his grip and used his momentum as he stumbled backwards to swing the captain around and face-first into the wall. Picard's forehead hit the wall with a smack. He felt his teeth rattle and he fell backwards to the floor, the back of his skull thunking against rock as he landed. Stars shot behind the blindfold and he could feel the room spin with the impact.

Powerful hands on the front of his shirt wrenched him to his feet before he could regain his senses and slammed him back against the wall, the back of his head taking its turn cracking against the wall. He could feel his brain jostling inside his skull. The guard held him pinned there, a hand squeezing around his throat. He could smell and feel the Cardassian's rank breath just inches from his face, cursing at him in Cardassian. "Don't try that again," he spat in Federation Standard. The guard he'd kicked was breathing hard, and Picard could hear boots sliding on the floor as he stood up. Another curse. The hand released his neck and grabbed his right arm. Another pair of hands on his left arm…"Walk!" the guard yelled, digging his fingers into the captain's upper arm. They didn't go very far before Picard heard doors sliding open in front of him. From the sound of the echoes, they had entered into a large room, walked a few more paces then stopped…and waited.

"I demand to see a neutral representative in accordance with the Federation/Cardassian Peace Treaty," Picard said into space, his head throbbing from his failed escape attempt. No response. After a moment, boot steps on a hard floor approached leisurely from a distance, then stopped in front of him. He felt the blindfold pulled from his eyes and was temporarily blinded by a glaring white light above him. It intensified the pounding in his head. Blinking to adjust his eyes, he could make out a Cardassian standing in front of him with a smug, amused look on his face.

"Captain Picard." The Cardassian's tone was that of a man pleased with the success of a bold plan. "You should prove an interesting challenge…probably the most interesting challenge to walk through that door in many years."

Picard said again, "I demand to see a neutral representative…"

The Cardassian cut him off, "One has already been dispatched from Tovan III, the nearest neutral planet." He motioned for the guards to leave and considered the captain. "Would you allow me to remove your restraints?"

After the drama in the hall, Picard was surprised at the offer, but he wouldn't complain. He raised his hands towards his captor while the Cardassian punched a series of buttons on a padd he was carrying. The shackles unlocked with a snap but loosened only enough that Picard had to wriggle his hands out. He winced as metal scraped across bruised and raw wrists. He rubbed them to dull the sensation. It didn't help much. The Cardassian looked pleased at the human's discomfort and held Picard's gaze for a while before turning and walking towards a desk in the middle of the expansive room.

"I am Gul Madred. Have a seat." He motioned to a chair across from the desk. Picard slowly approached the chair and sat down, still rubbing his wrists, which bore angry red marks. "So, Captain, did you find what you were looking for on Celtris III?" Madrid smirked.

Picard was not amused. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Why, you of course," Madred answered candidly.

What the hell? Another pulse of adrenaline blasted through him, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, but Picard forced a cool exterior. "So you concocted an elaborate ruse to bring me here. Why?"

The Cardassian became annoyed. "In this room, you do not ask questions. You answer them. If I do not like your answers, you will die," he answered with a cool, menacing superiority. After a moment, his mood softened and the smirk returned. "It worked quite well, didn't it?" He paused, eyes narrowed. "You know, Captain, I know a lot about you. If people only knew what interesting things one can learn from spying, everyone would want to become a spy!" Madred smiled broadly at the joke. "I understand you are a student of archaeology. Did you know that Cardassia boasts some of the most splendid ruins in the galaxy?"

Where was the Cardassian leading this? Who was the spy? And why did the Cardassians have such an interest in him? Picard answered cautiously, "I know that the burial vaults from the First Hibition Civilization are reported to be magnificent."

Madred looked impressed at this knowledge. "Yes, they _were _magnificent when they were uncovered a hundred years ago. Priceless treasures were found there... artifacts made from precious metals inlaid with jevenite, a rare, breathtaking stone."

"You said "were" magnificent… What happened to them?"

"What happens to impoverished societies...The ruins were plundered. Their artifacts were stolen. Some were preserved in museums, but even those too were eventually sold to support the war effort…" He looked pensive, regret in his eyes.

"That war cost you millions of lives and yet you risk another war! Why?" Picard demanded incredulously.

Madred's eyes blazed at the question, then he asked nonchalantly, "Would you like to see the Hibition burial vaults, Captain?"

"What I would like is to be returned to my ship. The Federation will know soon enough of this scheme of yours and will want to get to the bottom of it. Holding me here will only escalate the situation…"

"My dear Captain, you are a criminal!" Madred interrupted him incredulously. "You were apprehended invading a secret facility. The least that will happen is that you will be tried and punished." He paused, letting the words bring the desired fear. "But I am willing to offer you the chance to have that experience be….civilized."

The sneering way he said "civilized" gave Picard a chill. He knew from reports of what Cardassian trials and punishments were like. Prisoners were put on display in a show trial, and then tortured to death in front of an audience. He had learned much from conversations with Ro Laren about the sadistic ways they treated their prisoners…horrifying… "What is the price of that offer?" Picard asked warily.

"Cooperation. We need to know the Federation's defensive strategy for Minos Corva."

At this, Picard almost chuckled with the absurdity of it all. "You've injected me with drugs. Surely you realize that I have answered truthfully every question you have put to me."

"Perhaps…but we went to great lengths to lure you here, Captain, because we know that in the event of an invasion of Minos Corva, the federation flagship will command the fleet for the sector encompassing Minos Corva. And her captain will know that strategy. Just think of all the lives you will save by giving us that information." Madred had risen from his seat and was approaching Picard now.

"I told you that I don't KNOW any plans. As far as the Federation is concerned, we have peaceful relations with Cardassia!"

Madred punched a button on the desk, and the doors behind Picard slide open. The two guards strode through the opening door, their footfalls in unison. Before Picard realized what was happening, they had wrenched him up out of the seat and pulled him forcibly towards a metal bar that was lowering down from the ceiling. Picard dug his heels into the floor and tried to twist free, but the guards were ready this time and had steely grips on his arms. They spun him around to face Madred who was casually opening a desk drawer. He produced a twelve-centimeter long knife that he gazed at admiringly.

"Are you in good health? Do you have any health problems I should be aware of?" He turned the knife blade to make it glint in the light. "The stones in the handle are jevenite. Now you can see why it is so highly prized."

Adrenaline coursed through Picard's veins, fight and flight both screaming for purchase. "Torture is expressly forbidden under the mandates of the Saldonis Convention defining the treatment of prisoners of war!" Heart pounding, breathing hard, he struggled to no avail. The guards' grips were like vises on his upper arms.

Madred ignored him. Aggressively, he stalked towards Picard, holding the knife in a downward grip. When he got within striking distance, Picard kicked Madred away from him, using the guards as leverage. Madred crashed backwards into the chair in which Picard had been seated but didn't fall. The guards were incensed. A sharp punch to the stomach doubled the captain over before a blow between his shoulder blades knocked him to his knees. Picard staggered back up, but the guard he had kicked earlier grabbed his collar and punched him squarely in the jaw. Picard crumpled to the floor, momentarily blacking out.

"That's enough." Madred's command came out as a low growl. "Get him on his feet."

The guards, breathing hard from exertion and anger, yanked Picard to his feet. The world rushed back in, the room spinning, a metallic taste in his mouth. The fight was out of him. Before he could regain his senses, the guards had already put the cuffs back on his wrists. Picard gasped as they savagely clamped them down tighter than before and attached them to the metal rod that hung from the ceiling. With his prisoner's hands secured overhead, Madred angrily approached the captain. "Wasted energy, Captain. You will wish that you hadn't wasted it on such a futile effort." He held the knife in front of Picard's face with the same downward grip, tightening his grip on the handle.

Picard's mind raced. Was he going to slit his throat? Disembowel him? Stab him?

"From now on, you have no privilege of rank, no privilege of person. You will be referred to only as human. You have no other identity." As he spat this in Picard's face, Madred sliced away the captain's clothes with the jeweled knife. The sound of ripping fabric, cut boot laces... The cold blade brushing against his skin...The tug of hands on fabric, ripping his clothes down to his ankles in one motion. The cool air of the room rushed against his bare skin...

It was surreal. This had to be happening to someone else. The sheer absurdity of it all left Picard's mind reeling. Madred pushed another button and the rod suspending his prisoner raised upwards, stretching Picard up until his toes barely touched the floor. The pain in his wrists and shoulders was immediate, but he was too stunned to say or do anything…hanging naked from his wrists in a Cardassian interrogation room…this shouldn't be happening, couldn't be happening...but it was. He looked at Madred whose eyes burned with hatred, disgust, and enjoyment. The Cardassian marched past him and out of the room, leaving his captive to his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He didn't know how long he had been hanging there, but it felt like an eternity. Once Madred had left, he calmed himself from the fear that was working its way into his mind and tried to look at the situation from a rational perspective. If he could just get to the metal rod and release the clamp holding his shackles to it, then he would be in business. His various attempts: trying to shake it loose, trying to bring his feet up and kick it loose, trying to pull his body up so that he could work the lock with his mouth…all had resulted in failure and intensifying the pain in his wrists and shoulders. After a dozen attempts with each method, he gave up and tried to focus on all that he could do…try shutting out the pain. He played songs in his head, tried to meditate, tried to push up more onto his toes to relieve some of the weight from his wrists. It didn't work. Picard's arms went from aching to excruciating, to tingling, to numb. He could no longer feel his hands which had become swollen and bluish. His calves ached and twitched from trying to stay on his toes and then gave out completely with muscle fatigue. He was unbearably miserable. He was cold. He was humiliated. He was desperately thirsty. There were times when he cried out in pain and frustration, unable to suppress it. He imagined an away team blasting through the door and rescuing him but scorned himself for such ridiculous fantasies. He knew he was on his own. He thought of Beverly and Worf and hoped they were safe onboard the Enterprise. Beverly. Feelings of regret welled in him and he pushed them down. Anger welled up...then acceptance. There was absolutely nothing he could do…nothing… so he hanged there all night and eventually started to doze, his head dropping to his chest. No dreams came, no respite from the agony of it all.

* * *

7 hours later…

"Good morning!" Madred said as he cheerfully strode into the interrogation room. "I trust you slept well."

Picard's head jerked up from his chest, his mind dragging slowly out of the stupor the misery of the night had produced.

Madred strode past Picard and towards his desk, carrying his morning beverage. Two guards followed him in and came to the sides of the prisoner.

With a sudden jolt, the bar suspending the captain lowered. Picard's knees buckled under him as he unexpectedly and mercifully sank from the ceiling. The bracket holding him was now at a level that the guards could reach. They released the restraints from the bracket as Picard tried to stand up shakily. One guard had to hold him up while the other removed the restraints and pulled the remnants of Picard's clothes and boots from around his feet. Picard had regained his senses by the time the guards finished their tasks. They deposited him in front of Madred's desk.

The relief from being suspended from the ceiling was temporary as the feeling in his shoulders and arms started to return in the form of sharp needles of pain. Picard was unable to lower his arms below shoulder height. The tendons in his shoulders had been stretched for so many hours that they felt frozen in that condition, throbbing with each heartbeat. He still couldn't believe what had just transpired. Madred sat behind his desk calmly watching Picard.

"Thirsty?" Madred queried.

Picard nodded. Could this be a moment of compassion on the part of his captor? He was hungry and thirsty, having had nothing for a day or more.

"I'm sure you are." Madred took a sip from his drink and sat the cup back on the desk.

The cruelty of this man was stunning. "I've told you all that I know," Picard said. His voice was soft and hoarse. It surprised him to hear it.

"Yes, I'm sure that you have." The Gul took another sip of his tea and savored it. "Well, it's time to move on." Madred picked up a padd from his desk and pushed a button. Four glaring spotlights flared on above the Cardassian's head, shining directly into Picard's eyes. He reflexively jammed his eyes shut and he turned his head away from the sudden brightness. "How many lights do you see there?"

Picard squinted into the lights. There were four lights. What kind of question was that? "There are four lights," he said out loud.

"There are five. Be quite sure."

Picard looked from Madred back to the blinding lights. "There are four lights," he said again.

Madred was building up to something. Picard could sense an amount of excitement in the Cardassian's voice; an excitement that he was attempting to restrain. "Perhaps you are aware of the incision in your chest. While you were under the influence of our drugs, we implanted a small device. It's a remarkable invention. By inputting commands into this padd, I can produce pain in any part of your body, at varying levels of severity…"

Picard looked down and there was indeed a fresh scar on his chest. He touched it, vaguely remembering something happening to him after the interrogation. He looked back to Madred with a sudden dread and understanding that his torment had just begun. Adrenaline heightened his senses as he tried to brace himself for whatever was to come.

"Forgive me. I don't enjoy this, but I must demonstrate. It will make everything clearer." Madred pushed a red button on the padd, and pain exploded through Picard so intense that it sent him gasping to his knees. He clutched to the desk, not even aware he was doing so… eyes clenched, sweat pouring, bladder evacuating, his pulse was the only thing he could hear... Then it was over. It was no more than a few seconds, but it had left the captain shocked and horrified. He had never felt anything like it…nothing could have prepared him for it.

Madred stood up in excitement, his voice louder. "Amazing, isn't it? Most people feel that they can steel themselves against it, but are totally unprepared for the intensity of the pain!" He was almost giddy now. "That was the lowest possible setting," he said dangerously.

"I know nothing of Minos Corva," Picard gasped. This was senseless! Couldn't this Cardassian see that?

"I didn't ask you about Minos Corva. I asked you how many lights you see."

The magnitude of what was happening slapped Picard right in the face. This was not about getting information…this was about a battle of wills. Picard took a few more rasping breaths, looking up at the Cardassian, then the lights, and back. He knew his next words were the gauntlet being dropped; knew it was exactly what the Cardassian wanted; knew that he was in over his head. "There are four lights."

"I don't see how you can be so mistaken." Madred waited long enough to heighten the expectation of what was to come, then pushed the button. Picard convulsed back, landing on the floor in front of the desk. He couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't control the muscles seizing. The last thing he saw was Madred's pleased expression before everything mercifully went black.

Picard lay unconscious on the floor. A blast of cold water in the face jolted him awake. He had the taste of vomit in his mouth. He sputtered as the water went up his nose and into his lungs. The silhouette of a soldier was above him haloed by bright white light. "Get up!"

Reality crashed back and Picard reflexively put up his arms protectively over his face. His brain registered that he was incredibly thirsty and water had just been poured on his head. He rolled onto his stomach and sucked up as much water from the floor as he could before the Cardassian roughly dragged him to his feet. Picard glared at the soldier who shoved a bundle into his arms. "Put this on. We're tired of looking at you."

If he hadn't been cold and humiliated, Picard would have shoved the bundle back in the Cardassian's face, but clothing was something he welcomed now, even if it was an orange jumpsuit. He put it on gratefully. His mind was cloudy. He was exhausted. He hurt all over. The soldier pointed to the chair. "Sit down." Picard glared at the guard but sat; he didn't much feel like standing anyway. Exhaustion was setting in, and he slouched in the chair. The captain cast his eyes down to look away from the lights, and his gaze came to rest on his raw and bruised wrists. He realized they hurt and saw why. It didn't take long before his eyes unfocused, and he stared blankly into space.

"Father?" came a small voice from behind him. The unexpected sound pulled him out of his reverie. He didn't move, but his eyes refocused. His peripheral vision saw movement and he turned his eyes to discover a small child running past him. His eyes followed her as she ran joyfully to the Cardassian thug standing before his desk.

"Ah, Jelora! Come here, my dear." Madred knelt down and held his arms out to the child, perhaps six years old. They hugged each other warmly.

"I wanted to see you before you went back to work. Is that a human?" she asked looking back at the creature she had passed coming in. She had completely innocent demeanor, sincere in her love for her father and curiosity about his work.

"Yes, that is a human."

"Do humans have mothers and fathers too?"

"Yes, they do, but human parents don't love their children as we do. They are different than we are." He hugged her again.

Jelora glanced back at the human, "May I go look at him?"

"Yes, my dear, but don't get too close. Humans are uncivilized creatures."

Jelora approached Picard as if approaching an animal on exhibit at a zoo, Madred following closely, protectively. She was bold and inquisitive, stopping a meter away from him only because her father's hand on her shoulder warned that she was too close. He could hear her humming something softly to herself as she stared at him. Picard half expected her to poke him to make him move. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, making no other movement.

"The human smells bad," she said.

"Yes."

"Do they all smell this bad?" She looked up at her father, her nose wrinkling.

"I'm afraid so, my dear. They are dirty and too stupid to know it."

Picard sat listening to the exchange, the term "brainwashing" entering his mind. He decided not to remain the silent, dirty, stupid creature Madred wanted his daughter to see. "Hello," he said, a hint of a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Madred moved between Jelora and the human and slapped him hard across the face. "Do not speak, human!" The Cardassian was fuming. Picard straightened back up in the chair after the blow, gritting his teeth. Striking back at Madred would just have proven the point to his daughter. Jelora for her part was unphased, as if this were a common sight. She lost interest in the human and turned toward her father.

"Will you read to me tonight, father?" she said in her small voice.

Madred smiled at her, softening at her very presence, "Well yes of course I will. Go on. I will see you tonight." Jelora skipped out of the room, humming her song.

"Your daughter is lovely," Picard said to Madred after the doors had closed behind the child.

"Yes, I think so," Madred answered proudly. "I must admit that I was quite surprised by the power she has over me…since the moment she was born." He beamed at the thought of her.

Picard was perplexed. "I'm surprised you let her come in here."

"Why?" Madred was equally perplexed.

"To expose a child to…this? To let her see someone who is suffering and that it is you who inflicts that suffering…" What more needed to be said?

"From the time Jelora could crawl, she was taught about the enemies of the Cardassians and that enemies deserve their fates."

"I am not your enemy," Picard said simply, raising his eyes to meet Madred's. "A child who learns to devalue others has a dangerously limited view of the world. They can devalue anyone, including their parents."

"What a blind, narrow view you have. What an arrogant man you are!" Madred said in disbelief. "What do you know of raising a child? What do you know of Cardassian views of the world?!"

Picard answered, "I know that you were once a peaceful people with a rich spiritual life. Then the military took over and hundreds of thousands of people have died."

"Where did this rich spirituality get us? Before the military took control, people starved. Bodies went unburied. The cities were in chaos. That's what spirituality got for the people. Now, we are strong and feared…we acquired new territories during the wars. We developed new resources. We implemented work programs and agricultural programs. That's what the military has done for Cardassia, and because of that, my daughter will never have to worry about going hungry."

"Her belly may be full, but her spirit will be empty."

That was it. Madred whirled in rage and backhanded the captain across the face. This time, the blow nearly knocked him out of the chair, but Picard managed to keep from falling. Where he struck was hot and already starting to swell. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt with his tongue the molar that had been knocked loose.

Madred continued to stand over him, deciding whether or not to pummel the human again, but turned back to the desk and slammed his hand down on the desk. The sudden sound made the captain look towards the desk and inadvertently at the lights. He flinched and shut his eyes at the brightness, turning his face away. "Shall we begin again?" Madred asked coldly as he sat down at his desk. "How many lights do you see?"

Picard didn't look. Cardassian bastard. "What lights?"

Madred's eyes blazed with anger. He dialed the intensity of the pain the prisoner would experience to a much higher level and pushed the red button.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

That entire day was a fight for survival, for sanity, for the will to keep going. Picard had lost count of the number of "sessions" Madred had inflicted. The Cardassian had enjoyed using his toy on him, experimenting with different settings to see what was the most unpleasant. Although Madred had not laid a hand on him since earlier that morning, Picard hurt. The intense pain stopped with the push of a button, but there were lingering effects. The violent seizing of his muscles had left his whole body sore. Dehydration made his head ache and his mouth feel as if cotton were in place of his tongue. Sleep deprivation was having an effect on his control. He could say with certainty that the Cardassians were skilled in the art of torture…but there were four lights.

"No, there are five!"

Thirty minutes of agony later, Madred turned off the device, set the remote on his desk, and left the room. Picard had long since fallen, convulsing from the chair. The blinding pain had been unimaginable, like being eaten alive from within. He now lay on his side, in a fetal position, facing away from the cruel lights. He was gasping; holding onto the life he felt was being ripped from him. The experience left him utterly exhausted, and now free from his tormentor, he mercifully collapsed into a heavy sleep.

Muffled music drifting in from another room roused Picard. Music? Picard lifted his head and saw he was alone in the room. The music wasn't Cardassian. It sounded like an Earth folk melody. As he sat up and searched for the source of the music, he noticed a wooden door he hadn't seen before on the other side of the room. Light glowed from around it and almost beckoned him with its mysterious intensity. Standing up, he approached the door and saw it had beautiful carvings of vines artistically crafted into its surface. He turned the antique doorknob and curiously opened the heavy, creaking door to the room of light. The music grew louder and the aroma of roasted turkey wafted towards him and filled the air. Picard stepped through the threshold into a warm, joyous atmosphere, glowing golden from the light of a fire burning in the fireplace. Logs popped, sparks flying up the chimney. It was so good to be home. He stomped the snow off his boots, unzipped his coat and took it off…too warm for that in here. His grandmother tottered towards him holding two glasses of red wine.

"Have a glass of wine, Jean Luc." She was smiling broadly. He loved his grandmother. She had been a guiding light in his life, and he missed her.

"Thank you, Mamau," he said smiling back and taking the glass from her. "It is so good to see you. I've missed you."

"I know, Jean Luc." She pulled him down to her level and kissed him on the cheek. Her love radiated in waves. "Come to dinner," she said as she took his hand and led him towards the dining room.

Picard followed and found that his family was there, already seated at the huge oak table covered with a feast that could feed the crew. "It's about time you got here," said Robert. Picard grinned to himself. Typical. He and his brother rarely got along, but Robert had been the one to help pull him through some of the toughest times in his life. He would always be grateful to him for that.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, Robert."

His grandmother took her seat next to Rene who helped her with her chair. Robert and Marie, Rene…and Beverly Crusher, Will, Deanna, Data, Worf, Geordi, Wesley...His whole family was there. Jean Luc took a seat next to Beverly who smiled at him and squeezed his hand under the table. He must have gotten a slightly surprised look on his face because he saw Deanna smiling at the couple from across the table. Candlelight lit her beautiful face as she made eye contact with the captain. He grinned that half-grin that he had started to let slip around his crew. Everyone was talking, happy. The buzz in the air was one of contentment, friendship, and warmth.

"So, Mr. Worf, what do you think of your captain's home?" Robert asked, putting him on the spot.

"Nice house." The Klingon was uncomfortable with the question and fidgeted in his seat. "Good wine."

Picard grinned. The Klingon's comment was almost verbatim from when he had once been asked how he liked his tea. The mental picture of the warrior holding the china teacup made him chuckle. The delicate wine glass was only slightly more masculine. He liked Worf. And he respected him. Picard knew the difficulties of a lone Klingon on a Federation ship and admired the courage he showed in that challenge. Picard had learned much about himself through his officer.

"It has been a long time since I've had a home-cooked meal," said Beverly. "It smells wonderful! I think I cooked a meal like this for Wesley once in his life."

"It was more than once, I think," Wesley said. "But it has been a long time. Thank you, Marie, for preparing such a lovely meal." Being a teenager, Wesley had his plate heaped. Picard wondered how he could put that much food away and still remain rail thin. Ah, to be young.

"Well, it's the least I can do. To have you all here is a special occasion. We're lucky enough to get Jean Luc here, much less his family on board the Enterprise." Marie was a beautiful woman, genuine, and Picard felt fortunate to have her as a sister-in-law.

"I told Robert the last time I visited that he had found the best cook in France and married her," Picard told Beverly.

Will Riker was savoring the sweet potatoes. "No kidding. Marie, you've got to tell me how you made these potatoes! I'm something of a cook when I have the time. This is not something I want to taste just once in my life!"

"Well it helps to have a garden with fresh vegetables," Marie said. "But I'll still give you the recipe."

"Maybe you have a recipe for scrambled eggs for him too," Geordi teased remembering his first and last time sampling Riker's cooking.

"Don't change your recipe, Commander," Worf said.

Riker feigned being hurt by Geordi's comment. "Thank you, Mr. Worf."

Picard looked around the table, enjoying the banter, the comfortable ease of being together. He leaned over towards Beverly. "I'm very glad you could come, Beverly," he said low enough not to be noticed by everyone. She turned towards him and looked him in the eye, her red hair radiating in the candlelight.

"Me too," she said. "I haven't enjoyed myself this much in a long time." She put her hand on the side of his face. "Hold onto this moment," she said, keeping his gaze long enough for him to realize that there were multiple meanings to her statement.

Jean Luc didn't understand exactly what she meant, but he could agree that this was the most content he had been that he could remember. "I will."

The feast continued until everyone was stuffed. It was all undeniably delicious, and there was enough for them all to have second or, in Worf's and Wesley's cases, third helpings. Picard usually stopped after the first helping, but couldn't help going for seconds. He was starving! His grandmother stood up after dessert and directed everyone towards the living room lit with the roaring fire. Robert started the song – his favorite folk song. A lot of wine, full bellies, and the joy of the moment were enough to get everyone in on it. Jean Luc Picard was happy.

"Wake up."

Picard turned away from the beautiful scene. Who had said that? The voiced seemed to have come from behind him.

"Wake up."

Picard opened his eyes, ripped from his haven by a Cardassian boot shaking him awake. The warmth and joy evaporated into the cold floor and dank air. Dull grey prison walls extinguished the light; the stench of sweat, piss, and vomit brought him fully back to his reality. Picard took a breath, trying to hold onto the last wisps of his dream. "Hold onto this moment," Beverly had told him. Now he knew what she meant. A tear spilled out of the corner of his eye and he could hear it drip onto the floor by his ear.

"Where were you?"

Picard took another shuddering deep breath, trying to savor the fading memory and tuck it into the safe place in his soul. "Home...Sunday dinner….we would all sing afterwards…" His voice was soft and slurred.

"Is that what's keeping you from breaking? Images of home and happier times?"

Picard nodded slightly, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Picard knew that this version of Sunday dinner had never really happened, but the vivid clarity of it could fooled him. Right now, it was real.

"I must congratulate you. You are remarkably strong-willed," Madred said from behind him. "I have decided that there is no point in holding you further. You are free to go." He pushed a control on his desk and the doors on the other side of the room slid open.

That got Picard's attention. He was lying on the floor facing the doors and focused his eyes on the blackness in the hall. He waited for the guards to come through and drag him back into that chair. That's what happened when those doors opened. But there were no guards. Was he still dreaming? The captain summoned all his strength and struggled mightily to roll to his stomach then push up to his knees. The aching pain and weakness in his body told him that he was indeed awake. He looked at Madred to see if he had heard him correctly.

"The guards are outside waiting for you. They will give you clean clothing before we return you to your ship."

He stared at the Cardassian warily, still not believing what was happening. But lots of things had happened to him here that he couldn't believe. Picard used the chair to drag himself unsteadily to his feet and held on until he felt he could keep his balance. Hope was a powerful motivator and gave him the strength to walk.

"We will get what we want from the human female," Madred said cheerfully as Picard was nearing the door.

Picard stopped in his tracts. His heart sank as he realized that this was just another game. Turning to Madred, Picard asked the question to which he already knew the answer. "To what female are you referring?"

"The one from your aborted assault mission, of course…Dr. Beverly Crusher. We have high hopes that she will be more cooperative than you."

The thought of them doing to Beverly what they had done to him ignited an anger in him that quickened his breath. "What have you done to her? She's a medical officer and knows nothing of strategic plans."

"You may be right. We'll soon find out for ourselves. As of now, she is safe…but as soon as you leave…" Madred let the sentence hang and smiled knowing he had hit a nerve. So, there was the weakness. Madred was pleased with himself.

"And Lt. Worf?"

"He left us little option. We had to kill him. I am more hopeful we will get what we want from the female."

Picard walked slowly back to the chair and painfully sat down, the memory of the dream and of Beverly still fresh in his mind.

He was revolted by the Cardassian's games, by the thought of Beverly in a torture chamber, by the very real chance that they would use her as a tool to break him. He knew he would if that were to happen. Picard resolved to stay and hang on as long as he could...just keep them away from Beverly. If they got out of this, he would never tell her.

"Are you choosing to stay with me?"

Picard nodded. He had to hold on just a little longer.

The Cardassian seemed genuinely delighted, "I can't tell you how pleased that makes me. So, let's begin again!" he said pointing up towards the lights. "There are five lights there. Tell me, do you see five lights? And think carefully before you answer because the correct answer will result in a good night's sleep, more of your happy dreams. An incorrect answer… will be unpleasant…"

Picard didn't want to answer. The thought of more torture was horrifying. Part of him wanted to break, to yell out that there were five lights. Just make this stop. Please, no more... But he saw Beverly in his mind's eye. Hang on. He had to hang on. Someone was coming to rescue them. Now that he knew Beverly was there, he had even more hope. Picard looked up at the lights then back to the Cardassian who knew what his answer was going to be. "I see four lights."

"No. There are five. Since you haven't had anything to eat or drink in two days and are probably hallucinating by now, I will give you one more chance. There are clearly five lights… How many do you see now?"

Picard wouldn't say it again. Picard's gaze fell and landed on a random spot on Madred's desk. He clenched his teeth waiting for the inevitable, the muscles in his jaws knotting. Gripping the chair, he began to tremble as he waited for the inevitable.

"How many?"

Nothing

"I see…" Madred stood up. "Despite your ingratitude, I am still in a forgiving mood. Your lack of cooperation requires me to punish you, but I will give you the chance to shorten the duration of that punishment." He waved the remote in the air as he spoke. "If you can reach this padd, you can turn it off."

Picard's eyes lifted to the padd that Madred waved in front of him. It would be difficult, but possible to reach the desk. He had a small glimmer of hope.

Madred smiled and walked towards the exit with the padd. Picard was still bracing himself but now was unsure why Madred was carrying the padd away with him. Upon reaching the door, Madred added, "There is a proximity sensor on this. The closer you get, the more intense the pain. The reverse is also true. You choose what to do. Have a good night." He pushed the button and placed the padd just inside the door, 10 meters away. Then he was gone.

The moment Madred had activated the device, Picard's body seized in a painful backward arch and he flopped to the floor, howling in pain. He had not even seen where Madred had put the padd, but he knew it must be near the door. He was able to locate the direction of the door through the tears that welled in his eyes. He had to get to it. He knew he couldn't survive another night of this no matter what the intensity, so he willed himself to move. The intensity of the pain shot higher. Somehow, he heaved himself forward another meter through the fire. He was going in the right direction. Picard's entire world collapsed down to one thing – the padd by the door. Hands contorted at unnatural angles, limbs refusing to move except in jerky motions, he crawled in lurching, agonizing fits. He could hear screams and knew they were his. His mind tried to shut itself down. No! Black crept into his peripheral vision. No! He was 3 meters away now! Too close to stop! Hurts too much! No! Have to move! Have to move! Move, Picard!

The doors slid open and Gavek stepped inside the room. He had orders to check in on the human to "make sure he didn't kill himself," as Madred had put it. The human had made a valiant effort to get to the padd. He had, in fact, almost made it, but was stuck within one meter of it, suffering in the paralyzing throes of the highest setting. He wasn't going to make it to the padd – no one ever made it - and an entire night of this would kill him. The physician actually felt sorry for the human, and he slid the padd to the opposite side of the room with the toe of his boot. "Don't try to get to it. You'll survive if you stay as far away from it as you can," the doctor warned.

Picard heard it skid past him on the floor and felt the pain and his hope decrease as it slid away. He had had one shot at getting to the device and that was now gone. He could see someone standing over him, heard his words in the distance, knew it had probably saved his life by kicking the padd away from him. As the Cardassian left, Picard lay gasping on his stomach, the world spinning around him. Slowly, painfully, he crawled as far as he could away from the padd; grateful for any relief the distance gave him. After an eternity, his body could take no more and blackness overtook him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After a lovely dinner with his wife and daughter, Madred had a restful sleep. His alarm roused him and he prepared for work. He was eager to see if the human had been able to turn off the device. He had never had anyone accomplish it before, but he had high hopes for this one. He had put the device on a timer as a precaution anyway; five hours and it would turn off. That would give the prisoner a few hours of sleep. Madred knew that if you pushed someone past a certain limit, then they would prefer death to cooperation. Picard was close to that point so had given him the few hours' sleep and was going to feed and water him today. It was another very effective trick…wear a person down to the point of hopelessness and then offer them kindness. It worked wonders in cracking walls and confused prisoners even more at what was real or imagined.

Madred found Picard at the far wall in a heap. He was asleep or had passed out. Madred carried a tray of food and sat it on the desk. The clank of metal tray on metal desk did not stir the human. Madred sat down at his desk and retrieved a boiled tespa egg off the tray for himself, putting it on a small stand in front of him. Tap, tap, tap…the sound of the metal tool cracking the eggshell finally got the human's attention and he opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision. "Ah, you're awake!" Madred said happily. "Here. Have something to eat. I insist."

Picard was too weak to move. Madred stood up and walked over to the listless form. "Here, I'll help you." Madred gently put his hands under Picard's arms and helped him to his feet. The human wobbled. Madred held him up as they walked over to the chair, which Madred had moved in front of the desk. "Have a seat. I'm sure you're hungry."

The exertion left the captain out of breath and dizzy, but the food in the face of starvation was a powerful motivator. Madred slid an egg towards Picard and handed over his egg tool. "Boiled tespa egg. It's a delicacy that I'm happy to share with you." Madred could see fatigue, hunger, despair in the human's eyes – exactly what he wanted to see. Good.

Picard leaned forward and took the tool. His arm was so heavy that he had to rest his elbow on the desktop. His stomach started to growl with the anticipation of anything to eat. But anticipation turned to revulsion when Picard got the top of the eggshell off to reveal a live embryo squirming inside. The disgusting creature's eyes looked up at him and its tentacles slithered to the edge of the shell. It was sickening. Picard looked from the creature, to Madred, and back. You have to be kidding me, he thought, then dumped the contents into his mouth.

"Good! Good! I like you human!" The Cardassian was pleased that the human had swallowed the creature. "Most people become ill at the sight of live tespa."

Picard swallowed the wiggling, slimy mass whole and nearly retched. He could feel it moving down to his stomach like a salty slug.

"I remember the first time I ate a live tespa egg," said Madred as he pushed a plate of cooked food and a cup of water toward the human. "I was six years old and living on the streets of Macat. We were thin, scrawny little animals trying desperately to survive. We huddled together in doorways like wild gettals for warmth. Tespas had mated and built a nest in the eaves of a burnt out building. Finding the eggs was like finding treasure. I broke one open and ate it on the spot very much as you just did. Then an older boy saw them and wanted them. And he got them, but he had to break my arm to do it."

Picard listened as he wolfed down the food and water. He swallowed most of it whole since the bruises on his face and the damage to his teeth had made chewing difficult. The food had come just in the nick of time. After the previous night, Picard had had serious doubts of his ability to take any more. This made him feel a little better. "It must be rewarding to you to repay others for all those years of misery."

The Cardassian tilted his head, clearly puzzled by the remark. "What do you mean?"

"Torture has never been a reliable means of extracting information. It is self-defeating as a means of control. Torture someone enough and they will say whatever you want them to say. It is a wonder it is still practiced." Picard's voice was soft and raspy.

"I fail to see where this analysis is leading," Madred said with annoyance in his voice.

Picard set the plate down on the desk. "Whenever I look at you now, I won't see a powerful Cardassian warrior. I will see a six year old boy who is powerless to protect himself."

In a fury, Madred slammed his hand down on the table activating the lights above the desk. "Be quiet!"

Picard turned his head away from the glare. "Despite all you've done to me, I find you a pitiable man." He pitied the man, but he also hated him.

The Cardassian was in a rage now. "Picard, stop it, or I'll turn this on and leave you in agony all day!"

Picard immediately caught the Cardassian's mistake and laughed out loud. "You called me Picard!" he said pointing his finger at Madred.

"What are the Federation's defense plans for Minos Corva?!" The tension was rising.

"There are FOUR lights!"

That was it. Madred jabbed a button on the desk and the doors behind Picard slid open to produce two guards striding towards him. They grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet and towards the bracket on the ceiling. Oh no. One guard punched the captain in the gut and Picard doubled over and to his knees, vomiting up the food he had just eaten. Hauled roughly back up again by the arms, one guard held him while the other ripped off the orange jumpsuit.

"No." Picard heard the word from his mouth but couldn't remember saying it.

His hands were once again shackled and attached to the bracket. Pain seared down his wrists to his shoulders. The bracket raised him onto his toes. "No, you bastard. You cannot hurt me!"

"You are a stubborn, arrogant fool!" Madred hissed in Picard's face. "See how an entire day in agony affects your level of cooperation!"

Picard's heart, breathing, and mind were racing. "You are six years old, weak and helpless! You cannot hurt me!" If Madred was going all out, then so was he. He didn't care if it killed him. Death was better than this. Anger at the absurdity of it all, rage, hatred, fear, despair, hatred, hatred… All this welled up at the moment Madred had pushed the button and left the room. The pain was an unbelievable stabbing pain that radiated from his stomach outward. Picard screamed in agony. "You cannot hurt me, damn you!" Waves of incomprehensible pain shredded his thin grasp on coherent though, and he screamed the screams of a man dying.

* * *

Madred told the guard to take the prisoner down at 07:00 hours. He would finish with him shortly there after. At the designated time, the guards entered the interrogation room. The human was hanging where they had left him screaming three hours earlier. He was unconscious now, hanging heavily but twitching reflexively to the devices impulses. They turned it off and the human seemed to sag more. He was somehow still alive. Once unhooked from the bracket, they dropped him to the floor and removed his shackles. There was no fight in this one anymore. He was nearly dead.

It took a few minutes on the freezing floor for Picard to come to a semi conscious state. His eyes were open but saw nothing...Nothing really mattered anymore. He couldn't take it anymore.

The doors opened and Madred strode in. He tapped Picard with his boot. "Wake up." He said it in a gentle voice. Although the captain wasn't looking at him, Madred knew he was listening. "I wanted to inform you that there has been a battle. The Enterprise is burning in space. The invasion of Minos Corva has been a success despite your lack of cooperation."

"Don't…believe you…" Picard said in no more than a whisper.

"No matter. It will be reported that you were lost in the battle. No one will know you are here, as you will be for a long, long time." He paused dramatically. "You do, however, have a choice. You can choose to spend the rest of your days here, subject to my whims. Or you can choose to live your life out in comfort. Warm clothes, good food, women as you desire them, free to pursue your studies in archaeology and history… I would enjoy debating with you. You have a keen mind. It's up to you."

Picard turned his eyes to look up at him wearily from the floor, naked, cold, done for. "What must I do?"

"Nothing really...Tell me…How many lights do you see?" He glanced up at the four lights above him. "How many?" His tone was gentle, compassionate, seductive.

Picard lay unmoving on the floor but looked up at the lights. This was his chance. Could he live with himself if he broke? That didn't matter much anymore. The image of Beverly flashed in his mind and he wavered. I'm sorry, Beverly. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Guilt welled in him as the last shreds of resolve snapped under the weight of his anguish, but just as the last thread was about to give way, he noticed something odd with the lights. His eyes were playing tricks on him. The number of lights changed from four to five. What? Had there been five all along? He didn't know anymore. Picard stared in confusion.

Madred's demeanor changed as the doors slid open. There was an urgency in his voice. "How many do you see? This is your last chance. The guards are coming. Don't be a stubborn fool! How many?!"

Picard heard a new voice. "What is going on here? You said he would be ready. A ship is waiting to take him back to the Enterprise!"

"We had some unfinished business," Madred said.

The new soldier told the guards to get Picard to his feet. They picked him up by his arms but he could barely stand, knees buckling weakly. He let them support most of his weight, and despite the pain their grips caused in his biceps, his interest in the latest development was piqued. Was the Enterprise still safe? Was this another trick?

"Get him cleaned up," the soldier snapped at Madred. To Picard: "Captain Picard, you are free to go. If you go with the guards, they will take care of you."

The whole immense senselessness of the past few days boiled down to this moment. The lies, the pain, the anger, the unspeakable cruelty... it caused a fresh surge of adrenaline through the captain and brought him back from the precipice upon which he teetered. Picard clenched his teeth in range and shook loose the guards, staggering but staying on his feet. With the remaining strength and willpower he had left, he straightened himself to his full height and looked at the lights. There were five. Then he looked at Madred, all the pain and rage etched in his face. "THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!" he screamed. God damn you...

Madred nodded to Picard, impressed with this human's will. A small grin spread across his lips as he watched the captain turn and walk unsteadily, but on his own, towards the door.

* * *

What happened next was like a half-remembered dream. The guards led Picard down the corridor to what looked like a medical bay. Picard stopped at the door not wanting to go in, but a guard pushed him in. He stumbled and fell, landing on his hands and knees. The guards hauled him back to his feet. Anger swelled in the captain, but he had no strength to react. Another Cardassian stood in front of him with a look of annoyed pity. Was he a doctor?

"What…?" Despite his fury, Picard's voice was not more than a raspy whisper – screaming for hours had taken its toll.

"We have to deactivate the device," the doctor said indicating the scar on Picard's chest. "This will self-destruct the device. You may feel some discomfort." He approached casually with a metal tool. The guards restrained the captain by the arms as the doctor activated the tool and aimed it at the incision. A piercing pain seared at the incision point, and what felt like, deep into his chest cavity. His knees went weak and he grimaced and moaned. Luckily, the guards held him up until he recovered enough to support his own weight again. The doctor handed Picard another orange jumpsuit. "Put this on unless you want to be naked for the rest of the transport."

"Where is Dr. Crusher?" Picard demanded weakly. He was taking too long struggling into the jumpsuit, so the guards took over and quickened the pace. He hated their hands on him.

"You are the only one here."

"Madred said he had the human female, Dr. Crusher," Picard insisted.

"There is no one else here." This Cardassian looked him squarely in the eye with none of the cruelty he had seen from the others. This man seemed different, almost compassionate...Finally, the truth? There was no way for Picard to know, but the man seemed sincere. He continued to look at the man as the guards finished roughly dressing him. They didn't bother with shoes.

"Please tell me."

"That is the truth," the Cardassian said as the guards spun Picard towards the door. Picard glanced over his shoulder to see the Cardassian still gazing at him almost compassionately.

The guards escorted him roughly to the transporter room and up onto the pads where he swayed unsteadily when they released their steely grips on his arms. Within seconds, the transporter beam enveloped him, and he was transported to the waiting ship. The angry faces of one set of soldiers was replaced by another set on the ship. Once the beam released Picard, the soldiers marched up on the platform and manhandled him off the transporter pad by the arms. Without a word, they marched him with an unsympathetic pace down the corridor. Picard tried to keep his feet under him, but he was too weak to keep up. They ended up dragging him, supporting his weight by vice grips on his upper arms. Picard could feel their fingers digging into his biceps, each of the soldiers' footfalls jolting through him with each crack of their heels.

The soldiers stopped at a holding cell and one of them pushed in a code in the keypad next to the forcefield door. "I need water," Picard said to the guards as he struggled to regain his footing. No response. "I said… I need water." Speaking was an incredible effort, and his voice was no more than a raspy whisper.

When the forcefield blinked off, they shoved Picard into the holding cell where he once again stumbled and fell, landing on his face despite his best efforts to protect himself. The impact split his right eyebrow, hot blood starting to drip into his eye. White hot rage flared in him. "Aghhhh!" he yelled in frustrated fury and glared up at them, teeth clenched. If he could have killed them, he would have.

The guards were not impressed. "Sink with water. Lavatory. Bed. Food." One guard pointed to each as he listed the amenities, tossed some sort of nutrition bar at him, and then they both left. The forcefield blinked to life with a reddish glow.

Picard struggled to his knees watching drips of blood spatter on the hard floor between his hands. Sheer anger got him to his feet and he stuck his mouth under the sink faucet drinking greedily from his cupped hands for what seemed like minutes. He had heard that one shouldn't give a starving person too much too soon, but his thirst ignored that. The water that spilled over his cupped hands into the basin turned red from blood dripping freely from the cut on his brow. Noticing this, he tried to wash the blood out of his eye and to stop the bleeding, but the water merely diluted the blood. He pulled the sleeve of his jumpsuit into his fist and held it firmly against his eyebrow to stop the bleeding. As he kept the pressure constant, he dropped to his knees and found the nutrition bar on the floor with his other hand. They had not even bothered to wrap it and it was covered with dirt where it had touched the floor. He didn't care and bit into it on the side of his mouth that did not have teeth knocked loose. It was stale and hard, and he was barely able to chew it even on his good side. He managed to get back on his feet and prop himself against the wall next to the sink where he held the nutrition bar under the running water in the sink to soften it. That made it easier to chew. Whatever it was, though, hit his stomach hard. He had not had solid food for a long time. Doubled over in cramps, he lurched over to the "bed", which was actually more of a shelf, and curled up on it in a fetal position on his side. The cold metal felt good against his side...it was the only relief he had had in a long time. Pulling his hand away from his brow and dabbing it lightly, he saw that the cut had nearly stopped bleeding. The pain in his stomach was demanding his attention now, and he held his stomach with both arms waiting for the pain and nausea to subside. Resting his swelling brow on the cold metal, Picard closed his eyes and exhaled in exhaustion. Free from Madred's torment, he felt his body begin to relax, his muscles jerking involuntarily. Finally, utter Exhaustion gripped him and he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Wake up!" Madred was standing over him holding the controller to the pain device. "I think you were just about to break, so I think we should finish the job. You're a pathetic creature! You can't take more of the pain. You really thought you were going back to your ship?!" Picard jerked awake in alarm, eyes darting around in disbelief. He was back in the chair in front of the lights. "How many lights are there?!" How did he get back here? Had he been dreaming again?

"No, you can't do this."

"Do you know what it feels like to have your blood boil, human? Guards, hang him back up." Guards came in, locking his wrists in the cuffs. He tried to fight, but his body wouldn't answer. No, no, no ,no, no

"How many lights are there?!" Madred slapped him across the face once...then again…then he pushed the red button.

"There are…. five lights!" Picard screamed. "Five lights!...five lights…"

"I said, wake up!"

Picard jerked awake on the shelf/bed in the holding cell, wide-eyed, gasping, and disoriented. The Cardassian soldier who had been shaking him stepped back, a little startled by the human's sudden reaction. "Come with me. We've rendezvoused with your ship."

Picard looked at him confused, still not sure of what was happening.

"I said to get up!" the Cardassian commanded angrily.

Breathing heavily, sweating, and hoping this was real and not the nightmare, Picard slowly shifted his feet to the floor and tried to stand up. His whole body ached, but the thought of getting back to the Enterprise gave him the adrenaline to make himself move. The guard grew impatient with his slow pace and roughly grabbed Picard by the shirt collar. "Don't touch me!" growled Picard angrily through clenched teeth. In an attempt to keep the soldier from pulling him, he gripped the Cardassian's wrist with both hands. It was the wrong thing to do. The soldier yanked the captain out of the holding cell and slammed him forcefully against the corridor wall outside, never losing his grip on the man's collar.

"Get your hands off me, human!" He slapped the unruly prisoner across the face hard with his free hand. Picard let go of the soldier's wrist, face stinging. Before he could think, the guard had resumed his march down the corridor, dragging his prisoner along by the collar. Somehow, perhaps out of sheer rage, Picard stayed upright as they entered the nearby transporter room. The guard pulled him into the transporter room and jerked him by the collar onto the transporter platform. Picard barely had his balance when the sound of Chief O'Brian's voice over the comm channel made his heart leap. Could this actually be real? He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and hear it in his ears. Part of him expected this to be a dream from which he would awake to a Cardassian boot in his side.

"Ready to transport. You have the coordinates," the chief said.

"Transporting." The dark reddish atmosphere of the Cardassian ship was replaced with the clear, crisp Enterprise transporter room. Picard's heart leapt in his chest as the transporter beam released him and he saw O'Brian at the transporter controls. He swayed on the platform unsteadily, afraid to look around and see it was all another hallucination.

"Jean Luc!" He heard her beautiful voice and turned his head to see her smiling in utter relief as she leapt up the steps towards him. Picard looked at her with fear and confusion in his eyes. Were they really in the Cardassian torture chamber? Was Madred now going to use her against him?

"Jean Luc, you're home." She squeezed his arms as if to confirm he was actually there. He tensed at the touch. "I'm sorry," Crusher said thinking his reaction was from pain. She was overcome with relief and hugged him. "I thought we'd lost you," she whispered to him.

He didn't respond at first, afraid that his affection for her might get her killed, but his relief at seeing her alive overcame that fear. He gradually returned the embrace, eyes filling with tears. Was this real? Crusher broke the embrace after a moment and began waving her medical scanner over him. Her face told it all. "Let's get you to sickbay." Picard was still staring at her in disbelief.

"Chief, beam us directly to sick bay." The nurse who had accompanied Crusher to the transporter room quickly joined them on the transporter pad and helped hold Picard on his feet.

"Of course, Doctor." The chief added, "Captain, it's good to have you back, sir."

The trio rematerialized in sickbay. Beverly was still there. The place felt right, smelled right, looked beautiful...The joy of being home was almost overwhelming, and Picard hugged Crusher again, this time clinging to her like he had his dreams. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he finally allowed himself to believe he was truly home.

"Come on, Jean Luc. Let's get you onto the biobed." Picard reluctantly released his embrace, never taking his eyes off of her. Several orderlies immediately came to their aid, and Picard let them gently lift him onto the bed.

"Jean Luc, just relax. We'll take good care of you. Everything is going to be all right," Beverly said touching her hand on his chest. Her touch was like a sedative. Exhaustion closed in on him and he began to drowse, losing all track of what was happening or for how long. "Jean Luc, this is a sedative to let you sleep while we remove this implant." He felt a hiss of a hypospray on his neck and succumbed to a welcome, dreamless rest.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Riker walked into sickbay and headed straight for Crusher. "How is he?" The Enterprise's first officer had concern etched on his face. Crusher had told him and Captain Jellico that they would have to wait for her to finish patching up the captain before she could file an official report on his condition. But, needless to say, he was mistreated and was going to take some time to recover physically and most likely mentally. So, Riker was here at her summons that she was finished.

"He's sleeping," Crusher said. "He was pretty banged up. He had a concussion, cuts, contusions, a tooth knocked out, torn and stretched tendons, severe dehydration and malnutrition, and they had implanted some sort of device in his chest. I don't know for sure what it was because it looks like it self-destructed. But I know it wasn't for his health. My guess is that it was some sort of torture device that targeted his nervous system to make whatever sensations it produced all that more painful. He had some degradation of the nerves entering his spine at the thoracic vertebrae. I've repaired the damage to his nerves and tendons, but it will take physical therapy before he's back to his normal self. Will, the damage in his shoulders and wrists indicated that he must have been hung from the ceiling by his arms for extended periods. This is truly barbaric!" Crusher was obviously angry, that anger increasing as she described the captain's injuries.

"I have him on intravenous fluids and nourishment and he's still sedated from the surgery. The best thing for him now is rest."

Riker looked over at the sleeping form of his captain. Monitors were beeping over him and tubes came out of his nose and arm. Anger swelled in him and he tried to put the mental images Crusher had evoked out of his mind. "How long before we can wake him?"

"Give him at least until tomorrow. He needs to rest. We can get our answers later."

"Understood," said Riker. "Thank you, doctor. Tell me if there is any change."

"I will."

Picard slept.

* * *

Dr. Crusher sat in her office recording her personal log. "Beverly Crusher, personal log, supplemental. I finished surgery on Captain Picard at 14:00 hours today. The extent of the damage the Cardassians inflicted is staggering. Torture is illegal and yet they certainly have refined skills for a forbidden practice. I think of hundreds of years ago when it was routine to torture prisoners. Those prisoners did not have the advanced technology of today to repair the damage. They would have been damaged for life. To treat another life form as disposable…as not having basic rights! It's no better than what the Borg do to people – force their will upon, with no regard to your rights as an individual. But how will this affect Jean Luc mentally? Deanna's going to have her work cut out for her. Stop recording. Speak of the devil!"

Deanna walked into her office, her wavy hair billowing over her shoulders. "I came to see how the Captain is doing…and how you're doing."

Crusher smiled at the Betazoid. "Well, the Captain is going to make a full recovery…physically. I have him sedated until we take the feeding tube out, which I need to be doing pretty soon. I just mentioned in my personal log that you were going to have your work cut out for you."

"And how are you holding up?" Deanna knew how close the Captain and Crusher were and how difficult it had been for Crusher to abandon the Captain in the ambush. She knew that part of Crusher blamed herself. And to get the Captain back in such poor condition…well that just made it worse.

"I'm so happy that he's back safe. I'm also horrified at what they did to him. You would think that in the 24th century, we would all be civilized. I can see why the Bajorans hate the Cardassians so, if this is a typical case of Cardassian relations. I can understand where prejudice and racial hatred would come from."

Deanna nodded. "This is not going to be something that any of us will soon forget. And it is going to be a struggle every time we encounter a Cardassian not to remember it."

They sat in silence for a moment, digesting the thought. "OK," Crusher said. "Let me get to work and I'll call you before I wake the captain."

* * *

Two days later, Picard was looking better now that he was hydrated, fed, clean, and his visible wounds healed. He still had his beard, but Crusher figured she would let him decide if he wanted to shave it off or not. Crusher had called Deanna and Riker to tell them that she was going to wake the captain. Both came immediately.

Although the captain was no longer sedated, he was still sleeping. Once Crusher had removed the IV and feeding tube, she had let the sedative wear off. Now that it had been two days, it was time for him to wake up. "Jean Luc, it's time to wake up," Crusher said to him, stroking his face gently. "Come on, Jean Luc, open your eyes."

When he showed no response, Crusher retrieved a hypospray with a mild stimulant. "This will help him," she said as she pushed the hypospray to his neck. They watched as his breathing rate increased and finally his eyes fluttered open. He blinked to focus his eyes, seeing his friends waiting expectantly around the bed.

"Jean Luc, can you hear me?" Crusher asked with her hand on his chest.

He furrowed his brow focusing on her. He tried to say something but only a grunt came out. He cleared his throat and swallowed. "Beverly." He felt better, stronger, but his voice did not reflect it.

"Hey there. Do you know where you are?"

Picard looked around with his eyes, blinking to focus. "Looks like sickbay," he said.

"That's right. You're on the Enterprise. Will and Deanna are here too."

Will stepped forward and warmly put his hand on the captain's forearm. "Captain, it's good to have you back."

Picard looked up at his former first officer. "Will?" Picard was slowly waking up more now. " How long have I been out? "

"A little over 48 hours," answered Crusher.

"Forty eight hours..." It felt longer than that. Picard really had no sense of time through the entire event, but it felt like he had been gone for months.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" Deanna asked.

"I'm tired... but feel much better than before."

"Good news, Sir," Riker said smiling. "The message came in today that the Enterprise is your ship again just as soon as you're up and around." Riker was very happy with the news for many reasons. He and Captain Jellico had clashed uncomfortably and the entire crew missed Picard. He had become a father figure to many of them, as well as their trusted captain.

"That is good news, Number One. Then let's get me up and around. " He started to sit up, realizing how weak he was.

"Hey, take it easy," Crusher said. "I'll just incline the bed. Don't sit up too quickly." Picard conceded to just having the bed incline with a few more pillows behind his back. He found his weakness disgusting. Crusher handed him a cup of water. "Here, drink a little of this." Picard took the cup and took a few sips, not wanting to repeat his mistake on the Cardassian ship.

The room spun for a moment, but he recovered and sat the cup down on his lap. "I think that's enough for one day," he said and lay his head back on the pillows. Crusher took the cup out of his hand and put it on the tray next to the bed.

"We'll let you rest, Captain," Riker said. "It's good you're home."

"Thank you, Number One," Picard said without opening his eyes. Within a few minutes, he was back asleep.

* * *

It took about two more days before the Captain was strong enough to get out of bed. He was motivated to try, realizing that the sooner he was up and about, the sooner he would be back in command of his ship. Staying in Sickbay gave him far too much time to think. Thinking meant reliving the torture, thinking about how weak he had been, that although he had not broken on the outside, he had in his soul. Crusher wanted him to sleep, but sleeping brought nightmares as bad as when he had returned from the Borg. She wanted him to eat, but he saw the vile creature he had chosen to eat alive every time they put food in front of him. When he closed his eyes, he saw five lights. Tricorders looked like the pain remote when he saw them out of the corner of his eye, giving his heart a jolt and making the monitors go ballistic. Nurses came and went, touching him as they adjusted the blanket or checked a healing wound...but any touch was a violation, a Cardassian guard's hands. He suppressed the urge to push the hands away when he was awake, but if caught off-guard, he reflexively jerked away. "I'm sorry," he would say. "You startled me." But it was more than that.

Deanna had come to try to talk to him, but he couldn't yet. He knew that she could feel his turmoil, but he had to come to terms with what happened before he could explain it to her. She had given him a padd on which to write his report on his ordeal. It was an underhanded way of getting him to "talk" about what had happened, but he wrote it...leaving some things out that were too personal. He knew StarFleet would be interested in his report on this new Cardassian boldness. To kidnap a starship captain and torture him for information about the federation's defenses violated quite a few treaties... This would not be the last he heard of this. He separated himself from his emotions as he wrote his official report. He reported on the torture tactics of humiliation, sleep deprivation, pain, lies…and that the Cardassians were up to something. This plot had been foiled, but he was concerned at what else they might have up their sleeves.

Picard was ready to get out of Sickbay. He looked around and saw no one so carefully swung his legs off the side of the bed. He took several deep breaths to stop the room from spinning again. "Where do you think you're going?" Crusher protested as she came into the room...caught red-handed.

"I'm OK, Beverly. I want to get my ship back." He slid off the bed and to his feet, keeping a firm grip on the bed to keep from toppling. Nurse Ogawa appeared, she and Crusher acting as spotters. "Really…I'm OK." Picard never liked being the center of medical attention.

"Jean Luc, this can wait until you're feeling better," Crusher said concerned.

"I would prefer to go through the formalities of the command transfer sooner rather than later. Don't worry. I'll come right back here afterwards. The sooner we can get things back to normal, the more quickly I will put all this behind me."

Crusher knew there was no point arguing. She could order him to stay, but there was a certain logic to his reasoning. And lying here in sickbay with time and thoughts to keep him company was probably not what he needed. He needed to "get in the saddle again."

"OK, Jean Luc. Here's the deal. You go get command of the ship, and then you come right back here. You're not cleared for duty yet," Crusher said sternly.

Picard smiled at her and squeezed her arm affectionately. He looked down at his blue sickbay gown. "You don't happen to have a uniform around here do you?

Crusher had gone to the Captain's quarters to get his uniform. He didn't mind her rummaging through his closet. Picard was in the changing room in sickbay, looking at himself in the mirror. He rubbed the white stubble of a beard on his face and decided that it made him look older. Was it the beard? The face was his, but the eyes had changed. There was a weariness or sadness in them. Probably both he thought… He thought of the dream he had had on the Cardassian vessel and it made him feel weak and less of a man. Could he have really been to the point where he would have done anything, absolutely anything, just to end the torment? Would he really have saved himself from more torture knowing that Madred would have turned his attentions to Beverly? He had always felt that every man did have a breaking point, but he had hoped that he would have never had to have found his. Picard knew that if Madred's superior had not come in the exact second that he did, that "five lights" would have come out of his mouth. He had been broken, whether he said the words or not. It was just a matter of seconds and luck that had kept that knowledge private.

Picard's thoughts were interrupted by the chime on the door. "Come," he said to the air.

Beverly entered, carrying his uniform and boots. He thanked her and turned away ashamed. "Are you all right, Jean Luc?" She knew him well.

"I will be. I have a lot to think about."

"You know that I'm always here for you…always have been." Crusher squeezed his upper arm warmly.

"Thank you, Beverly." He looked at her reflection in the mirror with affection, then changed to a lighter note. "Do you think I should keep it?" Picard asked, referring to his beard.

"I've always been suspicious of men with beards."

Picard looked amused, knowing that two of his senior officers had beards. "Then it'll go. I wouldn't want you any more suspicious of me than you are already."

She smiled and left the room fighting the urge to kiss him.

* * *

Back in his quarters, Picard had shaved and then reported to Captain Jellico that he would be there for the transfer at 1400 hours. His door chimed. "Come."

Deanna Troi smiled at him as the doors opened.

"Deanna," he said somewhat surprised.

"I thought I would walk with you to the bridge."

He didn't need an escort to the bridge. "Did Beverly put you up to this?"

"No, I just thought you might like the company."

Not really. "Thank you," he said with a grin that did not reach his eyes. "Let's get to the bridge. I don't want to be late for my date." Troi knew that Picard's light humor was a front. It didn't take an empath to see the sadness in his eyes. And she knew that he would talk to her when he felt like he could. She had read his report before deciding to walk with him to the bridge. He was going to need to talk.

The Captain was not in a talking mood as they traveled to the bridge. The silence in the turbolift was deafening. He stared straight ahead, face impassive, emotions roiling off of him. Troi had to put up mental shields to protect herself from suffocating in them. When the aft turbolift came to a halt, the Captain walked onto the bridge with as much presence as he usually had, but with a slower step.

"Captain on the bridge," announced Data. Picard looked around the bridge, everything in its place except for another captain sitting in the command chair. Jellico rose and extended his hand to greet Picard as he walked down the horseshoe. "Welcome home, Jean Luc." They shook hands.

"Thank you."

"The ship is yours…just the way you left it…maybe a little better…" The moment was uncomfortable. Jellico knew that he had never fit in with this crew. They were too much of a family to break up. "Computer, transfer command codes to Captain Jean Luc Picard. Access Jellico alpha three one."

"The Enterprise is now under the command of Captain Jean Luc Picard," said the computer.

"I relieve you, sir," said Picard.

"I stand relieved." Jellico walked past Picard and up the ramp to the aft turbolift. "It's been an honor serving with you," he announced to the bridge crew. And then he was gone.

It was as simple and as profound as that.

"You have the bridge, Number One." Picard nodded to Troi to follow him to the ready room. Riker and Troi exchanged glances. They knew this was not going to be easy for their Captain.

Once in the ready room, Picard's faux front dropped. He had thought that having his command back would remove the terrible burden he was carrying, but the second Jelico had left the bridge, Picard realized that nothing had changed. He needed to talk. He motioned for Troi to sit on the couch across from his desk. He sat down on the other side of the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee. He clasped his hands uncomfortably staring at them with a furrowed brow. "I don't know where to begin," he said. "It was…It was um…" Picard dropped away in thought, eyes still downcast. He needed to unload his anguish but didn't know how.

Troi waited, but Picard was lost in his memories. "I read your report," she coaxed.

Picard nodded, grateful that he would not have to tell the whole story. "But there was something I didn't put in the report…something that is troubling me." He straightened his jacket, eyes focused somewhere inwardly. "What I didn't put in the report is that at the end, he gave me a choice…between a life of comfort, or more torture. All I had to do was to say that I could see five lights when in fact there were only four."

"You didn't say it," Troi said.

"No…no….But I was going to. I was going to do anything…anything at all to make it stop. But more than that….." Picard's brows furrowed more and he finally looked painfully into Troi's eyes. "I truly believed that I could see five lights at the end. I knew there were four, but..." He sat silently, letting the thought hang in the air. Troi knew that this was a broken man.

"And you feel that by seeing five lights, that the Cardassians beat you."

"Yes. They did beat me. They made me see five lights, and I was going to say it. I was going to." There was sadness in his eyes, but also anger burning.

"Captain, you cannot berate yourself for this. The mind plays tricks on us, especially when under duress. You will come to terms with what has happened to you, and I will help you through it. The first thing you are going to have to do is forgive yourself for being a human being. You pride yourself in being the best at everything. This was not a failing on your part." He listened to the words, but Troi could sense that this was going to be a long recovery. Anger and hatred were easy feelings to develop, but extremely hard to release.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It seemed like the thing to do at the time…confess his sin to Deanna. However, once he began the actual conversation, he started to change his mind. He thought this would be the same type of recovery that he had dealt with upon his rescue from the Borg. He would tell Deanna what had happened, how he felt…She would help him figure out how he would deal with it…and life would slowly become livable again. However, this conversation felt different right from the start. This situation _was_ different. His ordeal with the Borg had been traumatic for sure, a violation that raped his very soul. It had been him against the unstoppable power of their collective might and had had absolutely no chance at withstanding them. His assimilation was inescapable; he had had no choice; and with the help of Deanna and finally Robert, he had learned to live with it.

But this new humiliation possessed a subtle yet real variation on the theme. This wasn't Jean Luc Picard humiliated by an entire race. This was Jean Luc Picard against one man. That man…no…that monster had driven him to the point of actually giving up. He, Picard, had been about to choose defeat. **_Choose_ it!** That concept had never entered his mind in his entire life…giving up? Was he really this weak? He felt shame and embarassment simply to contemplate it. And telling someone about it wouldn't change a damn thing.

An abrupt pulse of raw anger welled up in the Captain at the thought, and he stood up suddenly and walked a few steps away from Deanna, keeping his back to her as he tried to contain his emotions. He wanted to hit something, lash out at something. He felt the metal manacles on his wrists again and the unforgiving hands of the guards on his upper arms as they dragged him across the room. The frustration of being bound and manhandled by the guards blazed, his breath becoming caught up in his chest…a scream of rage wanting to escape. He suddenly had the overwhelming feeling of being trapped. He clenched his fists at his side, shoulder muscles bunching into knots visible through his uniform

Troi saw and felt the wave of panic that immediately filled the room. She remained calm. "Captain, I sense how angry you are right now. This is a perfectly normal reaction…"

"Deanna," Picard said, cutting her off mid-sentence, "thank you for listening." He turned around to face her, his entire body tense. "We should continue this at another time. I told Beverly that I would go right back to sickbay." He tried to grin and play off the panic attack, but his voice was tight and his jaw was set. "You know how she gets when she doesn't get her way."

Deanna returned the grin but wasn't fooled. Sensing that he felt trapped, she remained seated and unthreatening. "You need to acknowledge these feelings you are having."

"Oh, I'm acknowledging them. Thank you, Deanna." Without another word, Picard turned and strode out of his Ready Room leaving Troi still sitting on the couch. She let him escape.

"Number One, I'll be in Sick Bay," Picard said as he strode into forward turbolift, eyes focused directly ahead. Thank God the turbolift was there and waiting! As had happened in the Cardassian torture chamber, Picard's world collapsed down to only one thing...survival. He had to get away, get out of that room, escape the pain he was feeling.

"Aye, Captain," Riker said from the command chair.

Troi came out of the Ready Room just as the turbolift doors closed. She looked at the closed doors and then at Riker, concern in her eyes. It didn't take an empath to feel the storm of turmoil that had just exited the bridge.

* * *

The turbolift doors closed just in time. It had taken all of the willpower Picard had to hold himself together in the short distance from his Ready Room to the turbolift. He felt like he was going to explode with anxiety, anger, frustration, and the palpable sense of being trapped. His head was swimming as these emotions washed over him, unable to control the intensity of the sensations. All he could hear was his pounding heart and ragged breaths. Although his eyes were wide in terror, he didn't see anything. He had to escape. When Picard realized through his internal chaos that the lift had not started moving, he burst out, "Sickbay," angrily to the computer.

The lift began to move and the captain took deep breaths to try to calm himself, hands still balled into fists. It wasn't working, and the lack of control was so foreign to him that it only escalated the panic. He could see in his mind's eye the lift doors opening and a crewman seeing him in this state. No place was safe. "Halt!" The turbolift stopped between decks. Jean Luc Picard, captain of the federation's flagship backed numbly against the wall of the lift and slid down to the floor, knees to his chest, head buried in his hands, overcome with soul-wrenching sobs.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Picard didn't know how long he had been on the floor of the turbolift. Overwhelmed by grief, rage, and shame, his whole body trembled under the onslaught. It was as if he had separated from his body and was watching this pathetic wretch of a man sobbing on the floor and yet could feel every sensation that that man was feeling. He felt the metal burning his raw wrists, the unbearable pain in his shoulders, the intense hunger and thirst as clearly as if he were there in that Cardassian hell.

"Destination please," the computer intoned. The lift would halt for only so long before it prompted the user to decide what he wanted it to do.

The voice snapped Picard back into his body like one of the light switches in his Dixon Hill office, and he immediately became uncomfortably aware of where he was and what he was doing. He hastily got up off the floor, disoriented and embarrassed, and wiped his eyes and face with his hands. As he brought his hands away from his face, to his surprise, he saw no wounds on his wrists. The rubbed them just to make sure, and felt no pain. He was still breathing heavily when he said, "Deck eight," in a voice strained with fear. The lift began to move and he looked around him with wild eyes, not understanding what had just happened.

There was no way in hell he was going to Sickbay and have Crusher see him in this state. He needed to be alone to gather himself. What if this happened again? They would think he was going crazy. Was he?

In the few seconds it took for the lift to reach the deck on which he was quartered, he had calmed himself enough to appear fairly normal to the crewmembers that he passed in the corridor. It was not unusual to see the captain lost in thought. He kept himself aloof from nearly all of the crew, so no one was surprised when they nodded to him and got no response in return. And no one looked closely or long enough to see that he had been crying just a few moments before. Eyes hard and focused forward but down, he managed to hide his weakness.

When Picard reached his quarters, he hurried inside and let the doors close reassuringly behind him. The sigh of the closing doors mirrored the tension leaving his shoulders as he stood in front of the windows looking out at the impassionate stars. The stars were oblivious to his suffering and he found that comforting. His breathing finally slowed, and suddenly, he realized that he was totally drained, as if he had worked a double shift in an emergency situation. "Picard to Crusher," he said to the air after clearing his throat.

"Crusher here. I was expecting you here, Captain. Where are you? Are you OK?"

"Doctor, my trip to the bridge took more out of me than I would have expected. I'm in my quarters and going to take a nap."

"You can take a nap just as well in Sickbay."

I'm more comfortable here." When he heard the pause on the other end of the link, he added, "Please, Doctor." That last sentence surprised even him.

There was another pause on the other end of the line. "OK, Captain. This goes against my better judgment…get some rest and eat a healthy dinner. I'll come see you in the morning at 0800 hours. Promise to call me if you need anything."

"I promise. Thank you, Doctor. Picard out." He sighed in relief that Crusher had not put up a fight about him not going back to Sickbay. She had only agreed because she had not heard of his attack in the Ready Room. Picard looked around his quarters at his belongings. The archaeological artifacts, the sentimental trinkets he had kept from various missions…how meaningless they were as they sat in their precise places. They belonged to someone else. What rubbish.

Slowly, he moved into his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed on his back. He didn't bother to change out of his uniform or to even remove his boots. Staring at the ceiling, he thought about what had just happened to him. It had been totally unexpected and quite frightening to lose control. The very real pain he felt didn't make sense. Why was he feeling that now…after he was healed? Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at the ceiling, hands resting on his stomach. One tear welled over his lid and slid silently out of the corner of his left eye. He could feel the cool path it took before it halted in his sideburn. He gritted his teeth and wiped the offending tear away with an angry swipe. Willing his breath to slow, he closed his eyes. He was just tired. He had been through a lot and had only been back on the Enterprise for a few days. All this would be gone in the morning.

The exhaustion finally won and pulled his mind away from his thoughts. Drifting on semi-conscious thoughts, Picard began to drowse and finally fell asleep.

* * *

The command chair was a throne of sorts for whoever had the privilege of sitting in it. Controls on the arms connected the person to the ship as if he were the brain controlling the massive beast called Enterprise. It emanated power. He sat in his command chair feeling the confidence it brought him. Arms resting on the armrests, legs crossed, leaning casually to the right, he was the king of his galactic domain.

He glanced down at his sleeves, which were scratching his wrists for some reason. The fabric felt as rough as the course wool sweaters he had worn as a boy. He tugged at his sleeves from the cuffs and felt that they were sticky. Looking at his fingers, he saw that the tips were dark red with old, congealing blood. Alarmed, he slid his sleeves up to see bleeding and bruised wrists. He bolted up, looking at his bloody wrists in wide-eyed horror.

"Captain, we are receiving a hail," Worf said from behind him.

"On screen," Riker said from his seat to the right of the command chair.

Four lights sprang to life in place of the star field. "How many lights do you see there?" said the smug Cardassian voice.

He was so startled that he stumbled backwards and fell against the front of the command chair. Blood smeared on the tan leather.

"What's wrong, Captain?" asked Riker. "Don't you see the lights? Why don't you answer him?"

Unable to speak, he tried to pick himself up off the floor, but the blood on the command chair was slick and he couldn't seem to stand no matter how hard he tried.

"How many lights are there?" Worf was asking now.

Crusher came onto the bridge from the turbolift. "Don't tell him, Jean Luc! If you tell him, they'll kill me." She was visibly upset, shaking as she approached him.

Data turned around in the opps position. "How many, human?"

Wesley turned around from the con. "Captain, they'll kill Mom if you tell them!"

"Please, Jean Luc! I don't want to die," Beverly begged sobbing.

He looked around in terror as his comrades got up from their seats and closed in on him. Each morphed into Cardassian guards holding remotes like Madred had used to torture him. Disgust emanated from their very beings.

"Weak," one said. "Coward," spat another.

From behind them, the viewscreen flickered and Gul Madred forced his way through it as if it were made of flexible fabric. On the bridge, knife in hand, he roughly grabbed Beverly by the hair. With a savage jerk, he forced her to her knees, pulling her head back to expose her throat. Madred held the knife to her lovely neck, ready to slit it. "Tell me how many lights, and she dies."

Stricken by paralyzing panic, Picard stared at the remotes pointed at him. He knew that he couldn't survive more torture. "I'm sorry, Beverly," he whispered through streaming tears. "I just can't take anymore." His heart broke as the words left his mouth. "I see five lights."

Madred slowly dragged the blade across Beverly's throat. Her screams stopped.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Picard sat bolt upright in bed, sweat soaking his uniform and the bed. Gasping for breath, wide-eyed in terror, trembling…A wave of nausea hit him and he slid off the bed onto his hands and knees, vomiting. The tears followed, shuddering sobs wracking his body as his mind tried to free itself from the terrible images.

He lurched into the bathroom and stuck his head under the sink washing out his mouth. Splashing cold water on his face and over his scalp started to ground him. He looked at himself in the mirror, a dripping mask looking back at him with leaden eyes. Screaming in rage, he slammed his fist into the mirror with a crunch, causing it to splinter in spider web cracks. He could still see himself in the shattered mirror so hit is several more times until all he could see were the spider-webbed cracks.

Looking down, he saw that his knuckles were split open and gushing blood. "Dammit!" he shouted. Holding his hand under the spigot, the water turned red in the basin. Grabbing a towel, he tightly wrapped his hand. A dark red stain bloomed through the fabric. Feeling lightheaded, he slid to the floor, his back resting against the wall. He remained there the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Beverly had talked to Troi soon after agreeing to the captain staying in his quarters instead of sickbay. Troi had reported that Picard had started their conversation in his ready room very open about his feelings but had experienced sensations of being trapped once he began recalling the most troubling parts of the ordeal. Troi knew why he had abruptly halted the conversation but sensed that pushing him to talk about it could have escalated the situation into a full-blown panic attack. She had made the professional decision to let him escape to his quarters and calm himself down. The captain was a very private man and forcing an issue generally only resulted in him putting up more barriers. Troi had found that out on several occasions. They would talk about it the next day when he had a level head and had had time to think about it.

Beverly trusted Troi's judgement, so suppressed her protective, mothering instinct and gave him his space. 0800 hours couldn't come quickly enough, though, for Crusher. She had been concerned about him all night even though he had promised that he would call her if he needed her, and hadn't made that call. She had asked the computer to report on the captain's vital signs several times throughout the night when she had awakened for various reasons, and although his blood pressure was higher than usual, the computer reported nothing alarming. No matter, at 0800 hours, she was promptly at his door. She pressed the door chime and received no answer. She tried it again with the same results. "Computer, what is the location of Captain Picard?"

"Captain Picard is in his quarters," answered the computer.

Beverly pushed the door chime again. Still no answer. "Computer, medical override…Dr. Beverly Crusher." She hoped he was just sleeping and hadn't heard the chime, but the spike of adrenaline her instincts had just given her made her think otherwise.

The doors slid open to dark quarters. "Computer, lights 50%," ordered Crusher. The lights came up by half…enough for her to see but not enough to jar awake a sleeping person. Her optimist side still hoped he was asleep. Seeing he was not in the living area, she called, "Jean Luc?"

No answer.

"Jean Luc?" Crusher made her way into his bedroom to find the bed empty and dried vomit on the floor next to it. Uh oh. "Jean Luc, where are you?" Just as she said it, she saw the broken mirror through the bathroom doorway.

Crusher rushed into the bathroom, her blue lab coat billowing behind her in her haste. Her eyes tracked from the broken mirror, down to blood smears on the sink, and finally to the floor where she found the captain propped against the wall, legs out in front of him. He was still in his uniform, but it was wrinkled and dirty, sweat stains on his chest and under his arms. Both hands rested limply on his thighs, palms up, his right hand wrapped in a bloody towel. "Jean Luc!" Crusher hurriedly knelt down beside him. His eyes were open, but held a vacant stare. "Jean Luc, what happened? Are you alright?" She laid her hand on his face, and he reacted slightly to the touch but did not look at her or answer her questions.

"Crusher to Troi. I need you in the captain's quarters now."

"I'm on my way, Beverly," came the instant reply. "What's going on?"

"Just get here as quickly as you can," said Crusher, not wanting anyone to overhear the details of the situation. She would respect the captain's privacy as best she could, however the tension in her voice conveyed the urgency of the situation to whomever overhead the communication.

"Jean Luc, it's Beverly. Can you hear me?" She stoked his face. He was coming around because she saw his breathing rate increase and his eyes moved around as if trying to figure out where he was. Beverly heard the doors to Picard's quarters hiss open and shut. It had taken Troi only moments to get there. She must have run.

"Beverly?" Troi called.

"In here."

Troi rushed through the bedroom and into the bathroom to find Picard on the floor with Crusher kneeling by his side. "I found him this way and called you immediately. He's conscious but unresponsive. Help me get him off the floor and onto the bed."

Troi stopped short, shocked as she surveyed the scene and saw the shattered mirror, the bloody towel, the dried blood on the sink and floor. "Oh my God." She and Crusher got on either side of the captain and put an arm over their respective shoulders.

"Jean Luc, let's get you off the floor. You need to stand up. Deanna, on three. One Two, Three," Beverly said as she and Troi lifted in unison. "Unhh," he grunted at the sudden movement and grimaced as his stiff muscles changed position. Picard did put his feet under him when they got him vertical and walked numbly to the bed, letting Troi and Crusher support a good deal of his weight. They sat him down on the foot of the bed. "Jean Luc, can you hear me?" Beverly's voice had some authority now and it seemed to get Picard's attention. He lifted his eyes to her and for the first time seemed to see her. His intense hazel eyes were bloodshot and filled with confusion.

"Beverly?"

"That's right, Jean Luc." She and Troi smiled in relief. "Do you know where you are?" Crusher asked.

He nodded.

"Where are you?" Troi prompted, trying to get him to talk and reorient himself.

He glanced up at her but didn't respond. His eyes were hard and his jaw was set. Crusher interpreted the dark look as the moody side of an exhausted captain expressing annoyance at the question, but Troi felt seething anger from him.

"That's an improvement from just a minute ago. That's good," Crusher breathed with more than a little relief in her voice. "Let me take a look at your hand. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know." Picard looked down dumbly at his hand as she carefully unwrapped the towel. The fabric was embedded in the matrix of the clotted blood and was stuck to the wound. Picard looked back up at Crusher and reached up to touch her hair. "I'm sorry," he said

"Deanna, will you hand me my medkit? I think I put it on the his desk when I came in." Crusher pulled the towel away as gently as she could from his hand. Picard grimaced slightly as she pulled it free, taking some of the scabs with it. He could see that there were several deep gashes on his knuckles that had started to slightly bleed again. "What are you sorry about, Jean Luc?"

"I'm sorry," he said again, tears welling in his eyes.

"The mirror is broken in your bathroom," Troi told him. "Is that how you cut your hand?" she asked as she brought the medkit to Crusher and opened it for her.

He looked at her and then back to his hand. "I don't know."

"Captain, what do you remember?" Troi asked as Crusher began cleaning the wounds.

Picard furrowed his brow and stiffened at the question. "I…," he paused, an obvious internal conflict raging. "I…I don't know."

"I need more light here," Crusher said. "Computer, raise illumination by 30%." The lights quickly brightened, giving her more light but not enough to see what she was doing. Picard flinched at the unwelcomed brightness. "Deanna, will you bring me that floor lamp so that I can see this better."

"Sure." Troi carried the lamp from beside the head of the bed and set it beside Crusher. When she turned it on, Picard turned his face reflexively away. His body tensed, hands balling into fists, the hair on the back of his neck prickling as he braced himself for the unbearable pain that would soon follow. "There are four lights," he whispered to himself, too softly for the others to understand. "There are four lights."

"Thanks, Deanna. That's perfect. Sorry, Jean Luc, I know that's bright, but I need to see what I'm doing. I need you to open up your hand," Crusher said. "I can't heal these wounds with your hand in a fist." He slowly complied and she began using the dermal regenerator on his knuckles, his hand spread open over her palm. She held it in a downward grip.

Troi felt the shift in the captain's emotions and posture. He was mumbling something to himself over and over, but she couldn't quite make out what he was saying. "Captain, are you OK?" Troi asked sitting down next to him on the bed. "What are you saying?" She put her hand comfortingly on his upper arm, and his whole body went rigid, his left hand now gripping the covers. The wave of terror that boiled out of him nearly took Troi's breath away. "Beverly, stop what you're doing… Captain, you're safe." She squeezed his arm slightly...a completely innocent, comforting gesture, but utterly the wrong thing to do at the time. She heard him inhale quickly and felt the situation snowballing out of control. "Beverly..."

"I'm almost done," Crusher said still concentrating and unaware of the true urgency of Deanna's request. Without thinking, she repositioned her hand under the captain's and gently grasped his wrist to hold the hand at a different angle. The second he felt pressure on his wrist, he jerked away in terror.

"NO!" he shouted. He couldn't let it happen again! He had to get away. He shoved Troi off of the bed with his shoulder and kicked Crusher in the chest as he back-pedaled across the bed. Crusher toppled backwards onto her backside, stunned but unhurt. Troi was already picking herself up off the floor.

It all happened so quickly, that Crusher wasn't sure what had happened. By the time she registered that she was looking at the ceiling and not Picard's knuckles, Picard had lurched across the bed, rolled onto his feet on the floor, and was about to escape the bedroom. Troi was on her feet and blocked his way, hands up in front of her. He retreated backwards until the wall stopped him. His breath was coming in quick gasps, sheer panic radiating from him; a caged animal seeing his last chance to escape vanish. "No, no, no, no, no," he kept repeating under his breath. His eyes cut around, searching for a way out.

Troi continued holding her hands in front of her, palms out. "Captain, you're having a flashback. Focus on me. You are safe on the Enterprise. No one is going to hurt you." Her voice was soothing and calm.

"I don't believe you," he said in a low, breathless voice.

"Look, Beverly is here. She is safe. You are safe. Listen to the sound of the ship, the smell of the air. You are on the Enterprise." By this time Beverly was on her feet as well.

"No, it's just another trick! I don't know about Minos Corva! "

Beverly stepped around Troi to the side of the room where Picard wedged himself. "Jean Luc, it's not a trick. I'm right here." She slowly approached him. "Deanna's right. You're having a flashback. You're safe."

He looked at her with anguish on his face. "Beverly, have they hurt you? I'm trying not to break. I'm trying to protect you….but I don't know how much more I can endure." Tears were flowing now, his face contorted in grief. "I'm so sorry…"

"I'm fine, Jean Luc. We both are fine because we are on the Enterprise. You are in your quarters."

"Beverly, forgive me. I'm so sorry."

She was even closer now. "Jean Luc, look at me. I'm fine and you are too. This is just a memory. It's not really happening."

"What?" Confusion started to replace the panic; uncertainty instead of terror in his body language.

"You are safe on the Enterprise. Deanna is here. I'm here, and we are all safe."

"What's happening?" he was disoriented.

"You've been on the Enterprise for over a week now." She was now close enough to touch him and slowly reached her hand towards his shoulder. When he didn't flinch away, she put her hand gently on his left shoulder and then her other hand on his right. "Jean Luc, you're home," she said and softly pulled him towards her into an embrace. Breaking down, he fell sobbing into the hug and held her like a man clinging to a life line, his face buried into shoulder.

"What's happening to me?" he choked out through the tears.

"You were having a flashback…but you're back with us now. You're safe," said Beverly, her voice cracking with emotion. Tears welled up in her eyes. She cared deeply for his man, and seeing him in such pain was heartbreaking. They stood there for several minutes before Picard began to quiet down and pulled away exhausted. He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. Despite the tears still in his eyes, he smiled in open, unashamed relief, this time the smile reaching his eyes. "I'm so glad you're safe. I thought they were hurting you too." He hugged her again, this time out of love and not desperation. The embrace lingered; Troi stood watching and feeling her captain coming back from the abyss.

"Come on, Jean Luc. Come in here and sit down." Beverly gently pulled away and led him by the hand into the living area of his quarters. He sat down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. Troi followed them in and sat down next to him while Crusher got water from the replicator.

"Here, drink this," she said, touching the captain's shoulder to get his attention. He lifted his head from his hands and shakily took the glass, downing the water in one long gulp. "Want some more?"

He nodded, handing back the glass. Picard was fully cognizant again of what was going on. He was painfully aware that he was in a filthy uniform, unshaven, a little on the odiferous side, and nursing a pounding headache that felt like a hangover. He had lost his mind briefly and broken down on the shoulder of his chief medical officer and in front of Troi. But he was literally too exhausted and felt too horrid to really care too much. Crusher handed him another glass of water and he chugged it down as well, setting the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

Crusher retrieved her medical tricorder from her kit and scanned him. It showed that he was dehydrated, had elevated stress hormones, elevated blood pressure, and showed signs of sleep deprivation. He must have stayed awake all night. "Jean Luc, why don't you get a shower, change into something clean, and then I'll replicate you something to eat. You'll feel better. And once that's done, we'll figure out what to do. OK?"

Picard nodded and slowly stood up. "Alright." He numbly disappeared into his bedroom and they heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on.

Crusher looked over at Troi whose face mirrored the concern Beverly felt. "I learned about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at the academy, but this is the first time I've actually seen someone having a flashback," she said exhaling and shaking her head. "He had nightmares after the Borg event, but never hallucinations like this."

"This is a different circumstance for him. With the Borg, he was part of the collective, his identity suppressed. But this time, he was fully Jean Luc Picard. And he told me that he was close to breaking under the torture. He feels that they beat him. But there is something else that he's not telling us…something about you."

"Well, they told him that they had me as well. Maybe he's still trying to convince himself that it was all a lie."

"Maybe. But I think there's more to it than that."

* * *

Something about water pouring over him seemed to wash more of the darkness away than the sonic shower. Picard stood leaning forward onto his straight arms, hands flattened against the shower wall, water pelting over his scalp and shoulders. He exhaled the tension pent up in his body, feeling as exhausted as he ever had. Emotional fatigue was worse than physical fatigue. Finally, he forced himself to move and washed himself. Crusher was right. It did make him feel better.

Shaving was a little difficult because of the broken mirror, but he could see enough in one of the larger shards to do a respectable job. As he washed the lather off of his face in the sink, he saw the dried blood in the basin and on the rim. He looked down at the knuckles on his right hand and the pink lines that had recently been deep gashes. He suddenly remembered hitting the mirror, trying to wipe out the loathsome face of a weak man. Sighing, he used his towel to wipe up the blood from the sink and the floor. He would have a hard time explaining the mirror to the repair technicians. What was he thinking? He was the captain. He didn't have to explain himself. But he knew rumors would fly.

After he had cleaned up the mess, he dressed charcoal grey slacks and a loose-fitting green shirt. He didn't worry about socks. He wasn't planning on going anywhere. Taking a deep breath, facing the inevitable conversation, he walked into the living area where Crusher had replicated him a croissant, jam, fruit, and a cup of earl grey. He smiled weakly at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. How are you feeling?" Crusher asked.

"Better. But tired…." He sat down at the table and began to spread the jam onto the croissant. "And…"

"And what?" Crusher asked

"My head is pounding."

Crusher got the scanner and scanned his head. "Looks like it is the result of dehydration. Did you drink anything at all yesterday?"

"I don't recall...No, I don't think so."

"That's a good reason to have a headache." Crusher went to the replicator and ordered an electrolyte drink. "Drink this. And this should help with the pain until you get rehydrated," she said as she retrieved her hypospray and injected him in the arm with a pain-masking agent. He stopped chewing for a moment and blinked as his headache slowly vanished.

"That helped. Thank you."

Deanna sat to his right at the table and was the first to broach the subject. "Captain, how much do you remember about what just happened?"

Picard drained the last of the electrolyte drink and winced at the sour taste. "It's like a dream. But I remember most of it. When I was talking to you in the ready room, I remember that I was overcome with panic and had to leave. I don't know what caused it."

"I felt as much. What happened after you left?

He had finished his breakfast and was now sipping on his tea. "I remember getting in the lift…and was just overcome with anger. I don't know how long I was there. And I don't really remember getting to my quarters."

Crusher sat down at his left. "Do you remember calling me?"

"Yes. And I really did try to take a nap, but…" His eyes started to glisten as the memory of the nightmare slithered into his mind: Beverly begging for him to keep her safe, the jeweled knife slitting her throat, the blood…

"but you had a nightmare," Troi said softly. Picard just nodded, struggling to keep his composure.

"It was so real," he said in almost a whisper. His eyes were unfocused as he became lost in thought. Crusher touched his hand and he jerked at the touch. He attempted to smile reassuringly at her, but when he looked at her, he saw her from the dream. Quickly, he looked back at the table.

"Captain, what happened in the dream?" Troi asked softly. He shook his head, jaw muscles working at his temples. "Did it have something to do with Beverly?" He looked up at her surprised at her insight. Troi took that as an affirmative. "Captain, she is safe."

Picard nodded, barely keeping his emotions in check. "I know, but it was so real."

Beverly still had her hand on his. "Did you break the mirror after the nightmare?"

He nodded. "I woke up screaming…and I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face…but seeing myself in the mirror… I couldn't stand to see myself." His voice was tight with emotion. "I was so angry that I hit the mirror… several times in fact."

"Why couldn't you look at yourself?" Troi asked.

"I just couldn't," he said evasively.

"And what happened next?" Troi asked realizing he was clamming up.

"I found myself on the floor with my hand wrapped up in a towel…but I don't remember wrapping it or sitting down. Hell, maybe I fell down. I don't know... I just had to make sure that I stayed awake. I couldn't let anything else happen to…" He quickly redirected his train of thought away from the nightmare. "And then you found me there."

"You were saying something when I was treating your hand," Crusher said. "But I couldn't understand you. What were you saying?"

He hesitated... "That there were four lights." Picard's eyes were focused on the table as he said it.

Crusher ad Troi looked at each realizing simultaneously what had set off the captain. They had been completely unaware that he had been in the flashback the entire time. He was reliving the torture, and they had unintentionally played right into the hallucination. Troi voiced it. "And when Beverly raised the lights and I turned on the lamp, you flashed back to the lights the Cardassians used." He nodded. "And when I put my hand on your arm and squeezed it, it felt like the guards' hands."

"And when I touched your wrist…" Crusher finished "you felt the cuffs they used." Picard sat motionless except for an almost imperceptible nod. No one said a word for a moment.

Troi was the first to break the loaded silence. "As scary as this has been for all of us, we have learned some valuable information here," Troi said. "Victims of traumatic events often have no idea what triggers a flashback, but now we know three of yours."

"So I'm supposed to avoid bright lights and people touching me on my arms?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't think that will be possible. But now that you know what triggers your flashbacks, you can be aware of what is going on when you encounter a trigger and they make a memory surface."

"Ok, what do I do?"

"If you feel a flashback starting, pay attention to all of your senses. It's called "grounding." You have to convince your mind that you are in the here and now and not in the memory. Stomp your feet to feel the floor. Touch something cold or hot, taste something with a powerful flavor… you have to ground yourself to the present at the early stages and not let it escalate to what just happened. Every person finds what technique works for them. You will do the same."

Picard took all of it in. "But what if there are more triggers? I can't just go around waiting for something to make me snap."

Troi spoke straightforwardly. "There may be other triggers and they may not surface for months, or years... or maybe they never do. You will just have to be patient with yourself through this. It will take time, but you will get through it."

Her words were not reassuring.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

To a man whose career, whose personality, whose reputation revolved being in control of the situation, the prospect of having random flashbacks was terrifying. Not only could it completely humiliate him in front of his colleagues, but it could also jeopardize his career. He was not fit for duty now…that was an understatement. How would he ever be sure that he was fit for duty ever again if these things hit at random? Troi assured him that they would become less frequent and that recognizing them early on, he would be more able to control them…but how would he ever know for sure if he would snap at a crucial moment? When, and not if, he faced a Cardassian again, how would he react? Would he start screaming that there are four lights? Worse…would he say there are five? The more he thought of what could happen, more helpless he felt. And that just made him even angrier.

Deana had left Beverly and the Captain after their brief conversation at his breakfast. They needed some doctor/patient privacy, and Troi told the captain that they should meet that afternoon. He reluctantly agreed. After she left, Picard stared sullenly down at his hands that he rested in his lap. Beverly was retrieving something from her medical kit and returned to the table.

"Do you feel better after eating something?" she asked him as she sat down next to him.

"Yes."

She scanned him with the medical scanner, nodding in approval of whatever it told her. She closed the tricorder, stowed the scanner in the top of it, and put it on the table in front of her. "The numbing agent I gave you for your headache should be wearing off soon. Are you feeling any pain returning?"

"No. I'm fine." He was still looking down.

"Jean Luc, look at me." He didn't look up. "Jean Luc, look at me," Beverly said gently reaching up and turning his chin towards her with her hand. Although his face was turned towards her, he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. "Look at me," she repeated quietly.

Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers, shame radiating from them.

"Tell me what you're feeling." Her voice was soft and soothing. "Jean Luc, I'm here for you. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

He continued to look at her for only a moment more. His facial muscles betrayed his fragile emotions and he quickly looked away before he lost control over them. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"About what?"

He shook his head, still looking away from her. His face was set, fighting whatever emotions were welling up within him.

Beverly lowered her hand from his face and put it on his knee. He jumped slightly at the touch but quickly gathered himself. "Please let me help you."

Jean Luc just shook his head, the light from the nearby aquarium reflecting off the unshed tears in his eyes.

It was clear that he wasn't ready to talk. "OK," she said. Heart breaking, she looked at him for a moment longer before taking her hand off of his knee. She set two neural suppressors on the table in front of him. He glanced at them. "You're exhausted. You didn't sleep much, if any, yesterday or last night, so I want you to take a good long nap and…"

"I don't want to sleep," he said interrupting her. The thought of the nightmare brought a tangible anxiety. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes pleading for compassion. The image of Beverly with the knife slicing across her throat flashed into his mind, and he looked away.

"You have to sleep..."

"No." He leaned back in his chair and swiveled it slightly away from her.

"…_and_ that's why you will wear these neural suppressors so that you won't dream," she said sternly, indicating that she was not taking "no" for an answer. "Jean Luc, I know you're having nightmares, but you have to sleep. You can set the timer on these for however long you want to sleep. I recommend at least four hours. Six would be better."

"But..."

"But nothing." She voiced her full authority as chief medical officer in her tone. "You are the captain of the Enterprise, Jean Luc Picard, and you are unfit for duty without sleep. The Enterprise may be your ship again, but I have not yet cleared you for duty, and I will not do so until you cooperate with your doctor. No arguments," she warned. "At 2200 hours, Nurse Baldwin will come by and start your physical therapy."

Brow furrowed and mouth drawn into a tight frown, he clenched his teeth to keep from yelling something he'd regret. The muscles in his jaws visibly knotted at his temples, and he didn't have to say anything for Crusher to see his anger rising.

"Do you want full mobility in your shoulders back?" she asked authoritatively, voice firm.

Unconsciously flexing his shoulders, which were still incredibly stiff, he grudgingly consented and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Then you're going to have physical therapy. Now take a nap," she said softening her mood.

"Yes, Sir," Picard said darkly.

"That's right," she said as she got up from the table, taking his comment as humorous instead of sarcastic. She wasn't sure which it was. "If I find you are ignoring me, I'll bring you to sickbay and sedate you." She was saying it with some humor, but Picard knew she meant it. She backed out of the room pointing a finger at him. "Physical therapy at 2200 hours and then talk to Troi…and you are officially taking sick leave for the rest of the week…and take that nap." The doors closed on the word "nap."

Picard sighed in frustration. Damn, she could be pushy! He got up from the table, fuming at having his day planned for him and shoved his dishes into the replicator to recycle them. Looking back at the table and the two neural suppressors, he wondered if they would really keep him from dreaming. He was terrified to find out…but Beverly was correct. He was exhausted and he couldn't go without sleep and expect to recover or even think clearly. He rationally knew this, but he was angry nonetheless. The irrationality of his emotions enraged him even more.

Crusher would, of course, get her way. He walked back to the table and picked up the two devices. The thin grey rectangles fit easily into one hand. He looked down at them. "Alright, dammit. I'll take a nap," he said under his breath. He looked into the bedroom, which was still in disarray and decided the couch was a better option. "Picard to Riker," he said to the intercom system.

"Riker here."

"Will, I'm taking the day off and the rest of the week per doctor's orders. You have the bridge until further notice."

"Aye, sir. Would you like an update on ship status later today?"

Picard hesitated. "Only if something needs my immediate attention, Commander. Tomorrow, though, an update would be welcome. Picard out."

Flopping down onto the couch with a sigh, he set the timers on the neural suppressors and put one on either side of his forehead. They would silence the horrors in both hemispheres of his brain…at least for a time.

* * *

Picard woke up disoriented. Blinking his eyes, the fog began to clear from his mind, and he realized that he was lying on his couch. Bringing his hands up to rub his eyes, his fingers bumped the neural suppressors on his forehead. Oh, yes. He slowly rolled up, removing the devices from his skin and tossing them onto the coffee table. He was incredibly groggy. "Computer, time."

"The time is 2130 hours."

Half an hour before physical therapy… He stood up stiffly and shuffled like an old man over to the replicator to get some water. After three glasses of water, he replicated some coffee to try to wake up. He rarely took naps during the day, even on his lieu days, so this one had discombobulated his internal clock…but so had staying awake the entire night before. It could have been the first thing in the morning for all his body knew. Night and day on a starship were relative things anyway. He walked around his quarters sipping the coffee and letting the warmth of the liquid wake his mind. He wandered over to his desk where his eyes came to rest the Klingon dagger Worf had given him. The back of his neck prickled as the jevenite-studded handle glinted in the overhead light.

He blinked in surprise and stepped back, startled. The door chimed, and the sound made him jump. Looking anxiously at the door and then back to the dagger, he saw only dull black metal where the jeweled handle had been just a moment before. Damn! He blinked again. The knife had no jewels on its handle. The door chimed again. Picard took a deep breath to compose himself. "Come," he called with a tight voice.

Nurse Baldwin walked in. "Good afternoon, Sir. I'm Lieutenant Baldwin here for your physical therapy." The nurse was a burly man in his thirties with a warm smile and relaxed demeanor. "I am a few minutes early. I can come back if this is a bad time."

Picard set his coffee down on his desk next to the knife and brushed his fingers over the dagger's handle to confirm that he was only losing his mind. It was smooth. Picard looked up at the nurse and attempted a half grin. "No, now is as good a time as any."

"OK then," the nurse said smiling, ignoring the captain's obvious anxiety. "Let's get those arms working again!"

Picard forced himself to be pleasant.

* * *

Troi showed up soon after Baldwin left. Picard was really not in the mood after having been twisted and stretched by the physical therapist. For such a happy nurse, he was certainly capable of inflicting considerable pain on his patient with very little compassion. Picard had to acknowledge though that he felt better and more flexible in his shoulders. Baldwin would be back tomorrow. Fine.

Troi stepped into his quarters to find the captain sitting on the couch massaging his left shoulder, a dour expression on his face. "How are you feeling, Captain?" Troi asked perkily. Everyone was so damn perky.

"Better." He quit massaging his shoulder and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"How did the physical therapy go?"

"Fine."

"If you would like for me to come back later, I can."

It would just delay the inevitable, and he wanted this over with. "No, now is fine, Counselor."

Troi sat down carefully across from the brooding man and waited for him to start. When the silence became uncomfortably long, Picard looked up at her with a "what do you want me to say?" expression on his face.

"Captain, I know it is not easy for you to discuss your emotions, but talking about them will help you come to terms with them. After a traumatic event, it is common to experience strong, conflicting, and often irrational emotions."

He snorted, looking down at the floor.

"Should I take your reaction to be a confirmation that you are experiencing such emotions?"

"Yes," he said quietly, not looking at her.

Troi stood up and walked over to the replicator like she owned the place. He had expected for her to plant herself in front of him until he spilled his guts, but her sudden change of tactics made him look up. "Are you thirsty?" she asked.

_Thirst…such painful, intense thirst! Picard watched Madred sip his tea. "Thirsty? Yes, I'm sure you are."_

"Can I get you some tea?" Troi asked when he didn't respond.

"Uh…no thank you," he said blinking the image of the Cardassian out of his head, realizing quickly where he was.

"Hot chocolate," she ordered from the replicator. It materialized and she took the steaming mug from the replicator pad. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." He ran his hands over the smooth fabric of the couch, trying to "ground" himself like Troi had described earlier.

Troi sat back down and crossed her legs, sipping the warm chocolate. She sensed his anxiety rise. "Are you OK?" she asked casually.

He nodded a little to quickly. "Yes, I'm fine."

She returned to her hot chocolate as if she took him at his word. "I find that chocolate has a way of calming my nerves. It should be the opposite with the caffeine, but for some reason, this is the best remedy for a stressful day. Will has his trombone. Worf has his holodeck battles… Everybody has their own remedy."

At nearly any other time and place, her idle chitchat would have amused him, but Picard was quickly realizing that this chat was a bad idea. "Look, Counselor, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm not feeling very talkative right now."

"What exactly am I doing?" she asked innocently.

"You know very well."

"I'm just drinking hot chocolate. Any ulterior motive is something you've thought up."

He signed. "You're trying to engage me in meaningless small talk until I cave in and divulge to you my innermost demons."

"Really?" She looked at her hot chocolate. "This _is_ powerful stuff," she said admiringly at the beverage.

He couldn't help but grin at her feigned innocence. "You're too good at your job, Counselor."

She smiled. "That's why you hired me. Now tell me about the flashback you just had."

* * *

Despite his annoyance of having Troi and Crusher dictate his daily routines for a week, he had to admit that both of them had been correct on everything they had prescribed. The physical therapy had worked wonders for his mobility, and he had been able to get restful sleep with the help of the neural suppressors. Crusher wanted to wean him off of them, though, and he was apprehensive about what dreams he might have…but he couldn't rely on that crutch forever. His conversations with Troi remained somewhat strained. She was correct though that he would be able to feel a flashback coming on and be able to stop it early before it became full blown. He recognized unexpected shots of adrenaline as warning signs and used her grounding technique to keep himself in the moment. Picard found that the quartz crystal that he kept in his ready room was the best thing he had found to ground himself. By forcing himself to focus on its smooth, cold facets both tactilely and visually, he could pull himself back from the brink. The frequency of his flashbacks was unsettling. Sounds, smells, words, situations… practically anything could remind him of the torture.

He didn't feel like the same man he had been just a few weeks prior. His body was healed, but emotionally, he was a wreck. Practically everything angered him. He didn't want people meddling in his business, and he certainly did not want to talk about his ordeal. It was over and done with, and he would bear the burden of his shame alone. Talking about it would change nothing. He was damaged goods. The part of it that enraged him the most was his reaction to the presence of Dr. Crusher. The shame he felt at betraying her ran so deeply that he didn't feel deserving of her presence, much less her ministrations. One-word answers and avoidance were now his default behaviors when she came to check in on him. He hated this. He hated how it made her feel. He hated himself for shutting her out. It was like something took over him and shut him down every time he saw her…and when she left his quarters in sorrow, not understanding, rage welled within him. Picard had never been a violent man, but pounding something to a pulp was foremost on his mind. What was happening to him?!

Picard stood looking out of the windows of his quarters, fists and teeth clenched. Troi had just left. She accused him of hiding something from her. He denied it, but they both knew it was a lie. But how could he tell her that he would have been willing to sacrifice the life of the woman he loves just for the chance of ending his torture? This would remain a secret…a dark, malignant secret that would eat his soul. The fury he felt towards the Cardassians for what they had made him become was going to burst through his chest. Picard knew what he had to do. He turned on his heel, grabbed his quartz crystal off of his desk, and stalked out of his quarters.

When he reached the holodeck, the crystal was already warm in his hand. He gripped it as if it would try to escape. The doors opened and he stepped into the gridded room. When the doors closed behind him, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Computer, show me a Cardassian soldier."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

If the scene had suddenly changed from a black and yellow grid to a dusty Wild West town, Picard and the Cardassian would not have looked out of place. Picard had the squared stance of a man about to kill his opponent – head lowered slightly, steely eyes glaring from under furrowed brows, fists clenched, muscles taut. The Cardassian just stood there, staring straight ahead. He wasn't real.

"Computer," Picard growled, "give the Cardassian behaviors consistent with a soldier."

"There are 493 profiles of Cardassian soldiers on file. Please specify."

"I don't care. Pick one!" he yelled at the air.

The computer chirped, and the Cardassian relaxed from his rigid stance and looked at the captain. When their eyes met, the spike of adrenaline that shot through Picard was almost blinding. He gripped the crystal in his hand, feeling as if he had been dunked in cold water. Hair standing on end; senses detecting every minute detail of his surroundings; heart pounding nearly out of his chest…his world narrowed down solely to the soldier standing in front of him.

"Computer, disengage the safety protocols."

"That action is not recommended."

"Do it!" God damned computer!

"Safety protocols disengaged."

* * *

Troi was making herself dinner when she felt it…a surge of irrational fury that hit her like a wave. She staggered and dropped the serving spoons she had been using to toss her garden salad. They clattered crisply on the glass table and then thudded dully onto the carpeted floor. Reflexively, she put her hand to her forehead, blinking as she put up her mental blocks. Oh no. "Troi to Picard!" No response. "Troi to Captain Picard!" No answer.

"Computer, locate Captain Picard!"

"Captain Picard is on Holodeck Two," came the unconcerned response.

"Troi to Crusher!"

"Crusher here."

"Beverly, meet me at Holodeck Two. Something's happened to the captain," she said on her way out the door.

"Something? What?" asked Crusher who was also already out the door of Sickbay with her medical kit.

"I don't know. I just sensed a wave of anxiety from him from across the ship. Just meet me there." Troi broke into a run.

"I'm on my way!"

* * *

Chaotic and powerful emotions had control, very much like during his mindmeld with Sarek. Picard didn't know why he had come to the holodeck, didn't really even remember how he got there... He just knew that he was about to explode with rage and there was a Cardassian standing in front of him. Part of himself was surprised that he hadn't reacted differently. He could have collapsed into a wimping puddle at the sight of his adversary, thinking that he was really about to be tortured again. But no… This was just primal, unfettered rage. He dropped the crystal he had brought with him to keep himself grounded to the floor. He would need his hands.

The Cardassian didn't have the smug look of superiority that Picard now associated with the race but instead he just considered the human with more curiosity than anything else. Picard stalked up to him defiantly and got inches from his face. "I hate you." Picard said in a deadly whisper. "I hate you!" His eyes blazed. When the Cardassian didn't react, Picard shoved him in the chest. Staggered back a few steps, the soldier regained his composure and continued to just look at the human. Picard shoved him again, more violently, bringing the same unsatisfying results.

"God damn you!" Picard yelled and landed a solid right hook across the Cardassian's jaw. The man just took it. Picard hit him a second and third time, breaking his hand on the Cardassian's brow ridge with the last blow. He heard the bone crack but had enough adrenaline coursing through him not to feel it.

In sheer frustration, he grabbed the soldier's armor and shoved him back against the wall, hoping his head would crack on the wall. It didn't. "Why? Why did you do it?!" he yelled in the man's face.

The Cardassian didn't back down or make a move but simply stared right back at Picard with cool restraint. Whoever the computer had chosen to base the hologram on had a great deal of restraint. Picard was so close that he could see the gold flecks of color in the Cardassian's irises. "Are you going to hit me, or do you want to bind my hands first?" Picard taunted. He felt the need to bait the man before he continued to beat the shit out of him.

"Or how about hang me from the ceiling all night? See if that makes it easier for you?" He pulled the Cardassian off of the wall and slammed him back against it, still getting no response from the man. By this point, tears were clouding Picard's vision, his face contorted in barely contained fury. He slammed him against the wall one last time.

The Cardassian considered the irate man for a moment more and then spoke. "You have a strong hatred for someone you've never met."

Picard was completely taken aback. "What?"

"I don't believe we've ever met."

The comment was so unexpected that Picard released the man's armor and took two staggering steps back. The damned computer had picked a nice Cardassian! Picard stood there blinking, the cacophony of emotions dissipating like a whirlwind at the end of its life. It was as if all of the air had been let out of a balloon that was about to burst. Picard stood there numbly, breathing hard from his exertions, arms now hanging limply at his sides. What the hell was he doing here? What was he saying? Had his experience left him so bitter that he would physically attack someone? What had he become? He continued to stand there feeling suddenly humiliated once again by a Cardassian but for an entirely different reason.

"I'm Gul LaVek. And you are?" The soldier actually held out his hand to shake Picard's.

"Um…Jean Luc Picard," he answered distractedly. He didn't take the hand.

The Cardassian looked confused. "This is the human tradition, is it not? Shaking hands?"

Picard looked up at him and nodded slightly but still couldn't shake the hand of the man he had just attacked.

"I see," LaVek said, realizing Picard wasn't going to budge. He dropped the rejected hand and instead used it to rub his jaw where Picard had just hit him. "Well, I hope someday you can teach me that tradition. Hopefully it will be less painful than your original greeting," the Cardassian said with a wry grin. He was making a joke! Picard stood there stunned and utterly humiliated. The Cardassian had completely defused the situation with the poise, restraint, and skill of a veteran diplomat. He had just done what Picard himself would have done not even a month ago. The realization of this struck to his core.

Just at that moment, Crusher and Troi came bursting into the holodeck. He turned toward them, not really seeing them.

Troi was the first to speak. "Captain, are you all right?" She was out of breath from running. Her eyes went from the pleasant Cardassian to the deflated captain to Crusher. Beverly looked as confused as she did.

"Couldn't be better," he said with quiet cynicism and moved towards the doors without looking at her.

"Jean Luc, what were you doing?" Beverly asked, also out of breath.

Seeing her in the same room with the Cardassian brought a brief flash of fear, but it was clear this was not in the Cardassian torture chamber. It didn't smell like bodily excretions, he had on clean clothes, he wasn't hungry or thirsty, and the Cardassian was the better man than he. "I just needed a reminder of who I really am," he said to Crusher and walked out of the room. It was a loaded statement.

Troi and Crusher looked at each other dumbfounded. Seeing Picard's quartz crystal on the floor, Troi picked it up. "Computer, end program," said Crusher. The Cardassian vanished, and they exited, chasing after the captain.

"Jean Luc, stop," Beverly called out, but he was already halfway to the lift and kept walking, ignoring her. It was clear from the tension in his shoulders and the purposefulness of his stride that whatever lull he had experienced in his anger had passed. She and Troi caught up and Beverly put her hand on his forearm to get his attention. "Jean Luc!"

He stopped short at the touch and turned his face towards Crusher. Looking down at her hand and then back up to her eyes, he clearly conveyed the warning not to touch him. She removed her hand.

"You needed a Cardassian soldier to remind you of who you are? What does that even mean?" Beverly asked confused.

He turned squarely towards her and glared straight into her eyes. "It means that I needed a Cardassian to remind me what a poor excuse for a man I am." He continued, walking towards her with menacing confidence. She backed away until her back hit the wall. "It means that I needed a fucking Cardassian to show me what a weak coward I am! Perhaps you should thank them for exposing this! I certainly had everyone fooled for a long time." He was in her face now, and for the first time in her life, Beverly felt threatened by him. She was speechless.

Troi stepped in. "Captain, let's get you to sickbay."

"I don't think a doctor can fix this," he said laughing. There was no humor in his laugh. He turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor towards the turbolift, leaving Crusher in stunned silence.

Gathering her wits, Crusher pushed herself off of the wall and went in pursuit. "Captain Picard, I order you to report to sickbay," she called out commandingly. That stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly towards her, danger in his very demeanor.

"And exactly what will that accomplish, Doctor?" he asked caustically.

"I am going to run a full diagnostic on you. You are behaving irrationally, and we are going to find out why. Troi felt your anxiety from across the ship!"

"There's nothing you can do for me, and I'm not going to sickbay," he said in a low voice. He meant it.

"That is a direct order, Captain. If you do not accompany us to sickbay, I will relieve you of duty and report this to Starfleet command…Please don't make me do that."

Troi was by her side now, supporting her. "Captain, please…"

Picard was fuming. All he wanted was to be left alone. They had no idea what had just happened; no idea of what he had become. They thought they could fix him…turn him back into the righteous man he used to be. They'd be telling him 'things would be all right' and that 'he was safe' and all that meaningless bullshit. He also knew that Crusher would force the issue and there was little chance of him winning this standoff...but he wasn't going to make it easy for her. "All right," he said with an acerbically placating tone. "Let's go to sickbay. Do your diagnostics; find that there is nothing wrong with me; report it to Starfleet command for all I care that the captain has lost his mind!" His voice boomed louder with each word. "They shouldn't have a person like me responsible for other people's lives anyway! Who knows who I would let die just to save my own skin!?"

"That's it, mister. Go to sickbay now, or I will have security escort you," Crusher ordered.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

They glared at each other, neither backing down. Troi could nearly taste the tension. "Captain, please come with us." Her voice was soft. "We are worried about you and what's happening to you."

He wasn't backing down; his jaw was set so hard that the muscles clenching his teeth twitched. She had never seen him like this. Troi continued. "I know how angry you are, and you have every right to be. But Captain, look at who you are directing your anger towards." She indicated that she meant Beverly and dropped the bombshell. "You are hurting the woman you love."

If she had thrown buckets of ice water on them, she would have gotten the same reaction.

Both Crusher and Picard turned just their faces towards her in unison slow motion. Both had the same expression of utter disbelief, mouths hanging open, speechless. Crusher's mouth moved as if she was trying to say something, but nothing came out. Picard just stood there stupefied.

"There, it's been said," concluded Troi, looking unruffled and sure of herself. She could feel Picard's rage dispersing away in weakening wisps. Her tactic had worked.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Picard made the first move. "Excuse me," he said in a hushed, preoccupied voice as he turned and walked slowly towards the turbolift eyes forward but down. The rage was gone, replaced by compliant remorsefulness. He was lost in thought as he entered the turbolift.

"Captain, will you be in sickbay?" Troi asked before the doors shut.

"Yes."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Deanna! What the hell was that?!" Beverly was still staring dumbfounded at Troi long after the captain had escaped into the turbolift. She wasn't sure if she was mad, surprised, amused, or impressed… Maybe all of the above.

"That was the ship's counselor getting the ship's captain to go to sickbay without a fight," Troi said matter of factly.

"Well yes, but…" Crusher was still at a loss for words, mouth agape and eyebrows up in utter disbelief.

"And it was me saying something that has needed to be said for about twenty years."

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Beverly. It's not like it's a secret. Nearly everyone on this ship knows you two have a special relationship."

"Well yes, but…!"

"And I think his feelings for you have something to do with his irrational behavior. You can be angry if you want, but I think I just confirmed my suspicions on the root of all this."

"And put me in an awkward situation!" Crusher finally managed to choke out.

"And for that, I apologize. But you have to admit, it defused the situation and quite possibly has the captain understanding what is happening to him."

Crusher was still blinking in surprise. Sure, she and Picard had feelings for each other. They had been attracted to each other from the first day they met, but they had come to a nonverbal understanding that their relationship was to remain totally on a friendship basis. There were times when both of them wished there could be more, but neither spoke of it. Maybe it was fear that speaking of the desire would ruin the comfortable friendship they had. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe they were just used to the status quo. Again, it was probably a combination of all of those. But now that Troi had broken the taboo, something would happen. Exactly what, Crusher didn't know.

"Well, if he really went to sickbay, I should be there," said Crusher distractedly and headed towards the turbolift. "You coming?" she turned to ask Troi as an afterthought.

"No, I want to see if he'll talk to you. Now that he's thinking about his feelings for you, he may be more willing to tell you what's going on. I'll be a distraction."

"You're a distraction all right," Crusher said as she entered the turbolift. When she turned to face the closing door, Troi saw a small grin on her face.

* * *

The captain had indeed gone to sickbay where he sat morosely on a biobed looking at the floor and cradling his right hand. When Crusher entered sickbay, Nurse Ogawa met her at the door.

"The captain's here waiting on you, Doctor," she said in a private voice. She glanced back at the brooding patient. "He wouldn't say much other than that you were expecting him and he'd wait on you."

"Thanks, Alyssa," said Crusher. "I'll call you if I need you."

"Yes, Doctor." Ogawa made a discrete exit, thankful Crusher was there to handle the moody captain. The other nurses who had been working in the room also cleared out quietly. They knew something was up.

Crusher took a deep breath and walked over to the biobed. Picard didn't look up until she touched him on the shoulder. "Jean Luc?"

He didn't jump at her touch but instead just took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. When he finally looked up at her, she realized that he had been looking at the floor to hide the fact that he had been crying. His normally clear hazel eyes were bloodshot and tired, but his gaze was almost serene. He didn't say anything, but his look spoke volumes. Something had changed.

"Jean Luc, I'm concerned about you."

"I know." He grinned a sad half-grin and let his gaze fall. "So am I."

"Can you tell me what happened to you in the holodeck?" Her voice was soothing with no judgment in it.

He looked at the floor for a moment more and lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I broke my hand."

Crusher finally noticed his swollen and bruised right hand and the gentle way he was supporting it on his lap. "Let me see." She tenderly took his hand in hers and scanned it with her medical scanner. "You sure did," she said shaking her head. "Three fractured proximal phalanges… You've got to stop hitting things."

He managed a small smile. "I know."

"Wait here." She walked to a cabinet and retrieved a bone regenerator and hypospray. Picard remained sitting sedately on the biobed, looking at the floor.

"How did you break your hand?" she asked when she returned.

"By being a foolish man."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that I thought that hitting a hologram of a Cardassian would help me…"

"The safety protocols should have kept you from breaking your hand," she said confused.

"I disengaged them."

"You what?"

"I disengaged the protocols."

"And What did you hope to accomplish by doing that?" she asked incredulously.

"I guess I hoped it would help me overcome the intense anger I've been feeling…but all it accomplished was breaking my hand…and showing me…" He trailed off, his facial muscles betraying his fight for emotional control.

"Showing you what?" She used the hypospray to inject him with an analgesic and then began to heal Picard's broken bones. She was careful to avoid holding his wrist.

His brows furrowed in determination. "…Showing me that I've become the very thing I despise."

Crusher looked up from her work. She could see fresh tears in his eyes threatening to spill onto his cheeks. It broke her heart. She could see from the strain around his eyes that he was choked with his emotions, so she focused intently on his hand, giving him and herself time to loosen the knots in their throats. After a few more moments, she said, "OK, this should do it. Your hand will be stiff for a few days, but there won't be any lasting effects." She stowed her medical tools to their proper locations and returned to stand in front of her patient. He opened and closed his hand a few times and then returned it to his lap.

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking at his healed hand.

"You're welcome."

Finally, Picard lifted his eyes to hers. "Beverly, we need to talk."

"Yes, we do." At last, he was allowing a crack of light through the wall he had built around himself. Beverly didn't dare push him for fear he would once again retreat into himself…into whatever hell he was reliving in his mind.

"There are a great many things I need to tell you…some that I fear will… alter our friendship forever." This was difficult for him. He took a deep breath. "…some things about which I feel a great deal of shame…"

Beverly put her hand on his uninjured one and squeezed reassuringly. "Jean Luc, I've always been here for you, and I always will."

He nodded but hesitated. "But this is not the proper place. Will you come to my quarters?"

Crusher assessed him for a moment. He seemed clear-headed, almost the man she knew before the incident with the Cardassians…but she couldn't ignore the fact that he had been nearly out of his mind less than an hour before. It was her duty to determine if his behavior was the result of more than emotional trauma. But she also couldn't ignore his willingness to truly talk to her. It was time to compromise. "And after we talk… then you'll come back to sickbay for a full diagnostic? No argument?"

"I'll come back to sickbay with no argument." He was totally compliant, a polar opposite change from how he had been only half an hour before.

"All right," Crusher said.

Picard produced another half grin and slid onto his feet off the biobed. "Thank you." He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the door. He rarely did that unless he was completely at ease. Beverly went along with it, still bemused at the change in the man.

He didn't say anything as they strolled to his quarters. Crusher could tell that he was lost in thought, but he seemed almost at peace with whatever had happened to him.

When they reached his quarters, he entered his access code and the doors slid open. "Please," he said offering for Crusher to enter first. The first thing she noticed when she entered his quarters was that things were a mess. She had never seen his quarters in anything other than pristine shape, clean and orderly, but there was work piled on his desk, dirty clothing on the floor, and empty tea cups scattered around the room. "Pardon the mess," he said apologetically. "I haven't really been myself."

"It's OK," Crusher said and sat down on the couch.

"Would you like something?" he asked her as he went to the replicator.

"Water would be fine, thank you."

He turned to the replicator. "Water, cold….Tea, Earl Grey hot." Both beverages materialized, and took them off of the replicator pad. Carrying them over to the couch, he handed Crusher her water and then sat down next to her on the couch. He gently placed his cup of tea on the coffee table and stared into the steam rising from the hot liquid.

Crusher took a sip of the water, letting Picard gather his thoughts. The fact that he had sat next to her instead of across from her was telling in his desire to unload whatever was haunting him. She didn't have to be an empath to feel the waves of emotions roiling off of him and filling the room with a loaded silence.

After another moment, Picard let out a resolute sigh and turned to face Crusher. "Beverly, I really don't know where to begin."

"Take your time," she soothed.

He nodded slightly, pursing his lips in thought. "There are things that I didn't tell you about my experience with the Cardassians," he said. "…Things about which I am deeply ashamed."

"Tell me what happened."

He furrowed his brow and swallowed. "I told you that they convinced me that they had killed Worf and captured you…"

Crusher nodded, "Yes."

"What I didn't tell you… was that there was one time when Madred had finally let me sleep. I don't know how long it had been since I had last slept…it seemed like days. I was so tired..." He trailed off in thought. "And I had this dream. It was as vivid and real as this is right now. I dreamed that I got up off the floor of the room where they were keeping me and walked through a large wooden door into my boyhood home in Labarre." He grinned at the warm memory. "Everyone was there…my family, my Enterprise family…." He put his hand on hers and squeezed, looking at her with affection. "We were having this feast. It smelled so good. I was so hungry…" Looking into her eyes, he continued, "And you were there sitting beside me. You were happy and safe, and it felt so natural to have you there." He smiled, remembering the joy he felt. "I didn't want it to end…but of course it did…and I was back on the cold floor, hurting."

Beverly listened feeling the knot forming in her throat again and tears welling in her eyes.

"When he woke me up, he told me that I could go; that they didn't need me anymore. I didn't believe him, but I also wanted desperately to escape…so I got up and had just about made it to the door when he told me that he was going to start torturing you for information now that I was leaving." At that point, Picard's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "I couldn't let that happen so I chose to stay with him. I thought that if I could hold on until the Enterprise found us, you would be spared."

Beverly couldn't say anything as her throat constricted with emotion. A single tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away. She was honored by his bravery, stunned, heart-broken… "Oh my God, Jean Luc."

He shook his head emphatically, seeing that she was about to thank him. "I'm not telling you this for you to thank me. No, it just makes what happened next even more shameful." His jaw was set as he prepared himself. He looked at the floor again, his face contorting as he fought to stay in control.

"Jean Luc, what happened?"

He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. His voice strained against his grief. "I _chose_ to protect you… and then at the end, I _chose_ to give you up. He kept asking me how many lights I saw. I knew there were four...there had always been four..., but I could see five. And if I told him there were five, then the torture would stop. And I was going to tell him." His words were tumbling out of him now as if the dam had broken. "I was going to tell him anything to make it stop." The tears fell one after another onto his cheeks. "If his superior hadn't come in when he did...the _second_ that he did… I would have said it." Anguish filled his eyes as he looked at her, confessing his despicable sin.

"Jean Luc…"

He wasn't finished. "What Deanna said was the truth. I do love you. I always have. And it kills my soul to think that I would have given you up to that monster. How can I live with myself? How can I look at you now and not think that I would have given you to them just to save myself?"

"Jean Luc, it's not your fault. You were starving and drugged and…"

He cut her off, shaking his head, "No. Let me finish. There's more you should know. You asked me what happened on the holodeck…" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, composing himself. "I went to the holodeck with murder on my mind. I wanted to kill that man with my bare hands. But I also wouldn't have minded if he had killed me either. That's why I disengaged the safety protocols."

"What stopped you?" she asked quietly.

"Something totally unexpected happened. I told the computer to pick any Cardassian soldier it had on file as a template for the soldier I wanted to kill." He almost chuckled to himself at the irony. "And it picked a descent man." He shook his head. "I asked the computer who LaVek was after I left you and Deanna..., and he was one of the founders of the Cardassian/Federation Peace Treaty; a man not very different than how I used to be." Picard paused, letting the cruel irony sink in. "I have generated so much hate and rage at what those few Cardassians did to me that I began to hate all Cardassians. And I thought that I could get my revenge on those few men by killing another of their race." He looked at her with profound sadness. "I have become the very person who perpetuates racial hatred and bigotry. I am that person I have fought to overcome most of my life. I am no better than any of the racist humans throughout history…and I would give up the woman I love just to save myself..." He let the statement hang in the air before he could no longer bear to look at her and returned his gaze to the floor.

Crusher finally understood the depth of his grief. The Cardassians had shattered the foundation upon which he governed his very life. They had used her to break him whether she was their captive or not… whether he was still in their custody or not. He had lived his life with integrity, dignity, selflessness, and respect only to have all of it turned on its head in one fell swoop. The magnitude of the injury was devastating. There was only one thing she could do.

Beverly reached up and gently used her hand to turn his face towards hers. Bringing her other hand up to cup his face, she pulled him towards her and kissed him gently on the lips. He resisted the kiss and pulled away, but she continued to cup his face in her hands. "Beverly, don't."

"Jean Luc, I can feel how ashamed you are of yourself, but you shouldn't be."

"No, don't"

"Listen to me. You went through something that no person should ever have to endure. I honestly don't know how you survived it. I know that I couldn't have. And I am honored that you protected me."

"I didn't."

"You did. And even though you think you somehow betrayed me, you didn't. You are the bravest, most noble man I have ever known, and nothing will ever change that." She could feel more tears welling in her eyes as her heart swelled in her chest. She had never loved him more than at that moment. She smiled at the silliness of not saying it… "I love you too."

Relief and love washed over him when she said it. He couldn't help but smile between her hands. And when she pulled him close to kiss him again, he didn't resist. He returned the kiss, bringing his hands up to her hair. They parted and gazed at each other. "I don't know what to say," he said smiling. He had expected her to react to his behavior with the same revulsion that he did. But it had the total opposite effect.

"Jean Luc Picard, you are a good man who went through a very bad experience. I trust you and know that you would give your life for anyone under your command without a second thought. You didn't break."

"I was going to."

"But you didn't." She looked at him squarely in the eye. "You didn't."

She leaned forward again and kissed him. He responded intensely, pulling her close and deepening the kiss.

* * *

Captain's Personal Log Stardate 46389.2. It has been nearly three months since my return to the Enterprise. While my recovery is taking longer than I would like, I have to admit that I am coming to terms with what has happened. Beverly pulled me back from the brink. I will forever be indebted to her...And also for Counselor Troi's boldness after the holodeck incident. On a more somber note...my understanding of some of the darkest and most violent conflicts in human history have become comprehensible to me where once they were mere abstractions. How easily we learn to hate one another. How easily we resort to violence. It is a sobering consequence of suffering.

**The End**

* * *

**So, do Crusher and Picard finally get together? I'll let your imaginations run with it and leave it open for a sequel. Thanks to all who have read my first story. It was joy to write and to know that others were enjoying it as well. I have more JLP stories coming!**


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